


Time Heals

by millijayne13



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Comfort, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Good Draco Malfoy, Grief/Mourning, Healing, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-09
Updated: 2020-09-17
Packaged: 2021-03-06 22:47:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 28,373
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26376757
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/millijayne13/pseuds/millijayne13
Summary: "Even the moon passes through phases to return to full - healing takes time." (Sonia)The aftermath of the Battle of Hogwarts is a time for healing for everyone, Draco included.(My spin on the redemption arc Draco deserved.)
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Original Female Character(s), Draco Malfoy/Reader
Comments: 16
Kudos: 102





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted to my Tumblr @iliveiloveiwrite
> 
> This series deals with a lot of dark issues. I will post a warning before every chapter - please read this to avoid any unwanted surprises.
> 
> Feedback is always appreciated! If you enjoyed, please leave a comment or a kudos!

When he thinks back to the Battle of Hogwarts, it’s a blur yet entirely clear. He remembers seeing the place he once thought of as home, reduced to rubbles at the hands of the very organisation his parents once proudly stood with.

As his mother dragged him across the bridge, he remembers his final look at the castle. He would return someday, but when? He did not know.

The aftermath of the Battle of Hogwarts is a time for healing, a time for coming together and working through age-old prejudices. Draco’s healing is taking a lot longer than he would like; he knows he needs professional help. Countless sleepless nights have told him that, have made him aware of that.

He’s looking something akin to a ghost these days. There are days despite the sleeplessness that he cannot get out of bed despite numerous attempts to try; the heaviness pressing him down into the mattress and every time he closes his eyes, he sees their faces and hears their screams.

He needs help. He needs to get help.

Draco chooses to see a muggle therapist who had been made aware of the circumstances behind his identity beforehand.

He chooses a muggle therapist for three reasons:

One – There aren’t many therapists for wizards, though there should be.

Two – The wizards that are therapists know who he is.

Three – He’d be judged by said therapists – they would try to objective, but his name would be the elephant in the room.

Dr. Francesca Jenkins came highly recommended through a connection at the Ministry of Magic who promised Draco that his parents would not hear a thing about this; it would up to Draco whether he chose to tell his parents despite being classed as an adult. Francesca was shocked when she was made aware of who her latest client would be and the magical talents he possessed, but despite that, she was worried over the state of his mind and as she closed the preliminary file on Draco Malfoy, she was determined to help.


	2. Chapter One

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Draco's first session with Dr. Francesca Jenkins has him confronting demons earlier than he realised he would.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally posted on my Tumblr: @iliveiloveiwrite
> 
> WARNINGS: mentions of therapy, depression, panic attacks, abuse (emotional and physical), vomit, feelings of worthlessness.

The office is flooded with natural light, courtesy of the large windows taking over one side of the room. Plants cover multiple surfaces and from his limited knowledge of Herbology, Draco notes a few with interest – peace lily, climbing ivy. Framed degrees litter the wall behind the mahogany desk. Draco counts them as he takes a seat on the maroon Chesterfield couch.

Dr. Francesca Jenkins greeted him warmly upon his arrival; shaking his hand without an inch of fear or pre-judgement. She had worked as a therapist for almost thirty years before his case was dropped in her lap; Draco felt comfortable in her presence, as if he could make progress with her.

“Thank you for making the time to fit me in, Dr. Jenkins. I understand that you’re very busy.” Draco politely says; she came highly recommended and must have made some sacrifices to fit him in to her schedule.

“Of course, you’re very welcome, Draco. Is Draco okay or would you prefer something else?”

“Draco is fine.”

“That’s great,” Dr. Jenkins smiles, sitting down on the matching armchair across from him. A pad and pen ready for her to take notes.

“I’ve never spoken to anyone about this,” Draco confesses, picking at an invisible thread on his black tailored trousers.

“Everything you tell me is confidential; whatever said in these four walls remains here.” Dr. Jenkins reminds him.

He nods, understanding it all, “I don’t know where to start, if I’m being honest.”

“Why did you come here? What are your reasons for seeking help? I’ve been made aware of your involvement within the Second Wizarding War.”

“To start getting better. I want to be better; I can’t sleep – every time I close my eyes I’m back there hearing screams and cries. I want to be a better man, I’ve been a little shit for most of my life, if you’ll excuse my French.”

“Let’s start there.”

“Where?”

“The beginning – why were you a ‘little shit’ for want of a better phrase? We will cover the events of the Second Wizarding War, but I want to get an understanding of you before.”

“Because I could be.”

“Tell me more.”

And there’s something so trustworthy about the expression on Dr. Jenkins face that Draco begins to open up, begins to tell her everything he’s kept tucked away for so long, it’s a torrent of pain and heartbreak:

“My family are part of the Sacred Twenty-Eight. These are twenty-eight families that by the 1930s were classed as remaining truly pure blood. Pure blood refers to our status in that in our lineage, we have little to no non-magical blood. The Malfoy family are conservative and old-fashioned in their views, so I was raised in an environment that was very prejudiced against those with different upbringings.

My mother is a wonderful woman and she would do anything for me. But I’ve only started to see this side of her since the war. Before that, she was quiet as if too worried to speak her mind or show any hint of affection. On the rare occasions that my father was away for an extended period of time, we would walk the grounds of the house and she would tuck me into bed with a kiss on the forehead and a whisper of sweet dreams. But it never lasted long. 

My relationship with my father is strained to say the least. He had a reputation, you see, and as their only child and their only son. The only Malfoy heir – it was on my shoulders that the reputation would fall. I don’t think he has ever told me he loved me. I don’t feel worthy to take on the Malfoy name because he has never once let me know that I’m good enough. My memories of him are few and far between, but enough happened for me to never forget them. If I wasn’t good enough, if I didn’t present myself perfectly… I don’t like to think of what my father did.

On a whole, the relationship with my parents is tense. I wasn’t raised by them; I was raised by wet-nurses then nannies then tutors until the age of eleven when I received my letter for Hogwarts and off I went. To make up for their absence, they would buy me gifts or send elaborate care packages to school. It was always artificial, always phony. 

If there were social gatherings, and there were. I was forced to socialise with the children of other families knowing that my parents and their parents were arranging betrothals. The pure blood families are inter-related. If you are only going to let your son or daughter marry a pure blood because of an archaic view such as that, the choice is very limited. And these children were raised with the same ideals as I was, and they happily accepted them as I did.

So I started to get angry. 

I’m a walking cliché aren’t I? Mummy and Daddy didn’t love me, so I did mean things for attention.”

Dr. Jenkins remains silent as she thinks through her reply; looking down at the notes written in her pad. She takes off her glasses and addresses the man in front of her, “Draco, you are not a walking cliché. From the information you have offered, you were raised in a toxic, abusive environment with very little emotional and mental support. Draco, you have experienced trauma from a young age. Instead of recognising it, because how could you, it was channelled into different paths and avenues.”

“Why didn’t I recognise it?”

“It was all you knew until you arrived at Hogwarts; those in your social circle as a child had been raised in similar circumstances. It wasn’t until Hogwarts that you got to see different family units in operation.”

Draco’s hands turn to fists as he thinks to his years at Hogwarts where he made life hell for so many people. For making fun of Ron Weasley’s family because they didn’t have the same wealth as he did, but he knew that it was because they had such a healthy familial relationship.

“I want you to address this to your parents. You can choose how and when you do it, but I want this to be addressed. I don’t think you’re going to get any closure until you talk about it.”

Draco nods; he knew that he would. He knew that there would need to be a conversation with his parents soon. And it would be uncomfortable and emotional, but it needed to be done.

“The purpose of this journey is to help you become a better man; that’s your aim from this session and our following ones? The foundations are there, Draco. But we have to work through these matters.”

He nods, not truly knowing what to say. He feels shattered; the rush of emotions leaving him has him resisting the urge to yawn.

“I want us to meet weekly. What would you say to setting a weekly target? Something to achieve with no immediate deadline. We’ll set them at the end of every session unless you choose otherwise. For example, your target this week would be what I mentioned earlier, addressing your childhood to your parents. ”

“Yes, I like the idea of the target setting. I can track my progress that way, too.”

Dr. Jenkins smiles at her patient, appreciating the eagerness being displayed for the want to get better. “That’s great, we’ll do that then, Draco. At the end of each session, you’re going to come up with a target you want to achieve that week that helps your progress. I’ll be here to help, of course, should you need it.”

Draco stands from the couch, understand that his time with his therapist was over for this week. He holds a hand out to her, which she takes, shaking twice before letting go.

“Thank you, Dr. Jenkins.” Draco states, honestly.

“You’re welcome, Draco. I’ll see you the same time next week.”

\--------

Draco apparates home. He can feel the familiar heaviness beginning to creep over him again as he walks up the main path to the front door; it has him wishing for his bed so he can simply hide away and let it consume him. He doesn’t head straight for his bed though. The session with Dr. Jenkins has him inside his head, working through the advice given to him.

“Draco,” Narcissa greets as he passes her in one of the living rooms, “How are you? How was your day?”

Draco drops a kiss to her cheek before slumping in a chair, “It was enlightening.”

“Oh?”

Draco hums, an arm thrown over his face. He felt drained, exhausted. He didn’t mean to say so much in such a short amount of time, but it felt good to have started with his childhood and realise that he wasn’t the only guilty party.

“Mother?”

“Yes, Draco?”

“Do you ever think back to my childhood and think things could have been done differently?”

“I’m not sure what you mean, my love.”

“Was there such a need to push the pure blood agenda? Was there a need to start marrying me off from the age of five? Do you ever feel guilty about the wet-nurses and nannies and not spending any time with me?”

Narcissa’s lips pull into a frown, “I spent time with you, Draco.”

“Whenever Father was away on his trips which wasn’t very often.”

Narcissa dabs at her eyes with the handkerchief always kept in her purse, “Of course I feel guilty about your childhood, Draco. It’s going to sound like the excuses of excuses, but we raised you similar to how we were raised. Did you know that your father and I were not matched? Our families did not want us married.”

Draco looks at his mother, his mouth open, “I didn’t know. You’ve never told me this.”

“Your grandparents on both side detested the idea. I was betrothed to a Gaunt; I had known him from my years at Hogwarts and we got along fairly well – it would be a good match. But he wasn’t your father. Your father saw no hope in our being together; called off the relationship before any true damage could be done but I refused. I went to my parents that night and told them I chose Lucius Malfoy, or I would not marry, and I would leave the family. It was an argument to rival arguments; father screaming, mother crying. But I wore them down and they started to see the appeal of the match. I won the argument, but they only conceded when I told them that they would have some control over how you would be raised. And it would be with the wet-nurses and the nannies and the tutors. Your father was rigorous in maintaining appearances, in protecting our reputation in order to protect our marriage.”

“Father has never told me he loves me. He looks at me with disappointment in his eyes. Everything he has done was to protect you. I don’t doubt his love for you, mother, I can see it clearly. I doubt his love for me. After all, what father willingly lets his child promote a pure blood agenda?”

“That is something you need to discuss with him. I am to blame too, Draco. I could have fought harder; I could have fired the tutors that promoted that awful ideology. But I didn’t.”

“You showed me you loved me though. You never raised a hand to me.”

Any colour that was in Narcissa’s face drains away, “What?”

“If my grades weren’t good enough, or if I showed any signs of going soft for those with muggle parents. I’ve felt worthless for years, mother, because I have never been good enough for my own father.”

“Draco, I didn’t know. If I had known, I would have put an end to it.”

“No, you didn’t know.”

Narcissa sits up straighter, a plan forming in her head, “Your father is in the library if you want to talk to him. When you’ve finished let me know, I have some words of my own I would like to say.”

Draco stands on legs feeling closer to jelly than bone and muscle, “Thank you, mother. I have forgiven you by the way. I can’t stay angry at the woman who would sneak me hot chocolate topped with whipped cream in the middle of the night.”

Narcissa holds out her hand which Draco gladly holds. She squeezes her sons too cold hand and says, “I have loved you from the moment I found out I was pregnant with you; the moment I felt you kick for the first time was and still is the best moment of my life, second only to holding you in my arms. I’m sorry I couldn’t protect you from all the evils in this world.”

Draco blinks back tears as he walks away from his mother.

He finds his father exactly where his mother said he would be. Lucius Malfoy sits at the head of the large walnut desk, an open book laid in front of him, but Draco feels as if his father isn’t truly reading the words in front of him, but is instead, somewhere else. Lucius Malfoy was once a proud man, was once a feared man but his time in Azkaban and his subsequent humiliation at the hands of the Dark Lord has left him trying to pick up the pieces of his once great reputation.

Draco pities his father and knows that he needs to speak his words carefully for fear of pushing him too far. But Draco cannot ignore the anger that swells within his gut, that turns his blood to lead as he gazes at the man that should have protected him, that should have fought for him.

“Father,” Draco greets, sitting in the chair across from him.

“Draco.”

Silence falls after that. Draco’s mind running a mile a minute on how to approach the subject with as minimal blowback as possible.

“I was speaking to mother earlier,” Draco starts, “We had an interesting conversation.”

“Your mother is an interesting woman,” Lucius murmurs.

Draco nods, agreeing, “She said that your marriage was never meant to happen. That she was betrothed to someone else but fought until she got her way, until she could marry you.”

Lucius looks at his son; a carbon copy of him, but who has his mother’s kindness and compassion. He thinks back to the morning that Narcissa turned up on his doorstep, face still puffy from crying, but happy as ever when she said she was free, that she could marry him. He had never known true love until he fell for Narcissa.

“No, your mother was engaged to be married to someone else, but she had given her heart to me and fought until she could marry me.”

“I don’t think you deserve her,” Draco states. And it’s true; from an outside perspective, it would seem that Lucius doesn’t deserve Narcissa. If they watched behind closed doors, they would see an entirely different story; he’s worshipped the ground she’s walked on since they were sixteen years old and sneaking kisses behind tapestries and statues.

“I agree with you, but I think your mother would disagree.”

Draco crosses his arms, “She also told me what you two had to give up for you to be married.”

“She did?”

“The nannies, the tutors – all pedalling a pure blood agenda that now that I think back to it, was so damaging.”

Lucius sighs; a conversation that he knew was overdue was finally happening.

“We weren’t in a position to fight back. We relied too heavily on our families.”

“That isn’t an excuse,” Draco hisses, squeezing his arms to keep his anger at bay. He didn’t want to lose his temper just yet.

Lucius leans back in his chair, “It isn’t. You’re right.”

Draco looks at him stunned; his father had never uttered the words in his direction before. There was always something he could do better or know more of. He was never simply right about something because there was always something more to know or do.

“I don’t have an excuse for you, Draco. Your mother and I willingly joined an organisation that promoted sick ideals because the ideals being preached were what we were raised with. As your mother and I fell in love and it became clear that we wanted to marry, we had to concede to our families that those ideals would be passed onto you through your early education.”

“That doesn’t excuse the beatings.” Draco says, voice dangerously close to breaking.

“No, it doesn’t. I don’t have an excuse to offer you, Draco. I’ve been an awful, wretched father to you. You never deserved what you got. I never protected you.”

Draco remains silent; his emotions overwhelming him. After his first therapy session, he didn’t think he would confront his parents with the intensity that he has. He wanted to take it slow, but the minute he entered the manor, he had to say something. It could no longer be buried deep inside him; it was going to destroy him, rot him from the inside out.

Lucius runs a hand through his hair before whispering, “I want to repair our relationship or try to forge one at least. I know that you won’t ever forget, and I doubt you’ll ever forgive me. I take full responsibility for every single one of my actions, but I want to try, Draco.”

Draco looks at his father; greying at his roots, wrinkles lining his once handsome face. This was the same man who had joined an organisation that promoted a heinous ideology but loved his mother so passionately and fiercely despite not being deserving of an ounce of her affection.

Lucius sits across from his son, watching every single emotion cross his face – anger, loathing, sadness. He knows that he isn’t deserving of his sons forgiveness; he has never forgiven his own father for the pain suffered at his hands. It was sick self-fulfilling prophecy that he can see his son is trying to end. Lucius isn’t surprised to find himself wanting his son to end the damned cycle; to shatter it into pieces so he can have some semblance of a normal life.

“I told mother,” Draco says, his voice no higher than a whisper, “I told her about the beatings. She never knew, but she does now.”

Lucius closes his eyes; exactly what he deserved and more.

“I won’t forgive you for what you did to me, and I know that we’re going to have more conversations about this. But if you’re willing to try, then I am too. I want to be a better person, and it’s starting now.”

Draco stands on shaking legs; Lucius mimics the action.

“Of course, Draco. Thank you.”

Draco nods once, before he turns and leaves his father standing behind his desk in awe of the fact that his son has become more of a man than he was at his age.

The minute Draco leaves the library, he flashes a quick smile to his mother who was pacing outside the doors, and starts to run.

He starts to run; every stride taken getting larger before he’s sprinting out of the front door. It’s all too constricting; everything’s too close to him, pressing down on him – the walls are closing in on him and he needs to _leave_.

He tugging at the buttons on his black dress shirt, undoing them as he runs through the large grounds surrounding the manor. He doesn’t stop until he’s far from the manor; far from his parents and watchful eyes.

He leans against a tree, takes a deep breath and then empties his stomach onto the floor. It’s the adrenaline leaving his body and the fact that he hasn’t eaten in hours; his nerves about his first therapy session made it impossible for him to stomach anything larger than a piece of toast. He wipes a hand across his mouth, heaving in deep breaths to keep the nausea at bay. He won’t vomit again but the nausea will remain for hours.

Draco sits himself down with his back to the tree and pulls his knees to his chest. He thinks over the conversations with his mother and father. The heartbreak is his mother’s eyes as he confessed; the shame written over his father’s face as his father confessed to his own sins. He’s willing to try; he wants to forge a better relationship with them despite what they’ve done. His relationship with his mother will only grow stronger, that much he knows. His relationship with his father is what’s going to take time and effort from both sides. Draco thinks back to the utter defeat written across his father’s face and can’t help but feel some form of vindication at it.

It’s been a hell of a day, he thinks, leaning his head against the bark of the tree.

It’s going to get better, his subconscious tells him.

But Draco sniffles, tears collecting in his eyes, as he whispers back, when?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading!
> 
> Feedback is always appreciated, so if you enjoyed, please leave a comment or a kudos!
> 
> Tumblr: @iliveiloveiwrite


	3. Chapter Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Draco covers his early years at Hogwarts.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally posted on my Tumblr @iliveiloveiwrite
> 
> WARNINGS: mentions of therapy, depression, abuse (emotional and physical), insomnia, bullying, derogatory language.

The days that followed the confrontation with his parents were tense. They were on eggshells around him; wanting to begin to repair the fractures within their relationship, but not knowing where to start.

Narcissa made it her mission to get Draco out of bed in the morning, bringing him downstairs for breakfast and then a walk through the gardens. She’d talk to him about anything and everything; getting him involved in whatever her plans were for that day in an effort to keep his body busy and his mind occupied.

Narcissa refuses to speak to Lucius as a result of revelations made about the abuse Draco suffered at the hands of his father. Lucius begins to panic after almost a week of silence; he can see the cracks in his marriage deepening. The space between them starts to feel like a gaping void that’s only personified when Narcissa begins to sleep in a guest room and moves her things in there.

Lucius approaches Draco slowly; it isn’t a race, it’s a marathon. He has twenty years of neglect and abuse to make up for. Lucius knows that there will always be a part of his son that won’t ever forgive or forget the pain he suffered at his hands and words. Lucius knows that he’s inflicted everlasting damage on the very thing he once claimed to love more than his own life. That fact hasn’t changed; as he watches Draco every morning, take his mother’s arm for a walk, he can see that his son has become more of a man that he can ever hope to be. For everything that Draco has been through in his short life, Lucius is in awe of how he seems to be handling it.

They take it slowly. Draco spends his mornings with his mother; talking about the flowers and the weather and the gossip – avoiding the heavier topics for a time when they both feel ready. In the afternoons, he joins his father in the library where a lot of time is spent in silence but on the rare occasion, the conversation revolves around what he wants for the future. And for the first time in his life, Draco feels as if his father is interested in his life, in his hobbies and passions. Not what he can offer the pure blood stock.

On the evenings, things get harder. The heaviness and fog creeps upon Draco slowly, but it crashes over him in wave so powerful he begins to wonder if he’ll ever surface. He lies awake in his bed, working through his usual exercises of listing the things he’s grateful for. His mother, his books, his life. It’s a short list, but he repeats it over and over again as if it’s a prayer. He repeats it until his lips are dry and the sun has started to rise.

\---------------

This time, Draco doesn’t feel as nervous as he apparates to the side street by Dr. Jenkins’ office. The nerves are still there but aren’t felling like a heavy stone in his stomach. He straightens the collar of his black Belstaff coat that has been ruffled slightly due to the apparating, shoving his hands deep into the pockets as he makes his way into the building.

Dr. Jenkins greets him with warm familiarity; exchanging small pleasantries over their day so far as they both settle into their respective seats. Draco on the grand Chesterfield couch; Dr. Jenkins in the matching chair.

Instead of focusing on her numerous degrees that are displayed on the wall across from him, Draco’s eyes home in on the bookshelves on either side of her desk. Book after book lines the shelves; hardbacks and paperbacks decorate the shelves.

Dr. Jenkins turns in her chair, wondering what’s caught his attention.

“You have a lot of books, Dr. Jenkins.”

She smiles, her attention returning back to the blonde-haired man, “I suppose I do. Some of them I need to take home before they bend the shelves completely.”

Draco thinks back to the bookshelves in his room, warping with the weight of the hardbacks and paperbacks upon them. “I know the feeling. I’ve noticed that some of them are your own books.”

Pride lines her face, but she tries to cover it up, “You can’t go thirty years in psychiatry without having published something.”

Draco nods, “I’ll have to buy a copy.”

She smiles at him, at his attempt to stall, “How have you been Draco?”

“I’ve been good… well I’ve been okay. I’ve already achieved part of our first target so that’s something.”

Dr. Jenkins looks at him from over the top of her glasses as she writes something down, “That is very positive, Draco.”

Draco nods, “Yeah, I got home after our session, I joined my mother in the living room and I just confronted her. She explained her reasons and she had no knowledge of the abuse of my father. Then I confronted my father.”

“How did that make you feel?”

“Good. I felt guilty at first because I was shouting at my mother, but I finally got to tell them how I felt about it all.”

“Do you think it helped?”

He purses his lips, “I think it did, especially with my mother. My father… there’s still a long way to go but he’s looking at me differently.”

“In what way?”

Draco chuckles, “Almost with respect?”

“That shocks you?”

“It does! It’s as if he’s starting to see me as a man and not a little boy.”

Dr. Jenkins nods her head, “Did you address your feelings on the arranged marriage aspect?”

Draco shakes his head, “I couldn’t after what my mother told me. I will bring it up with them, but not yet. I think they’re healing at the same time I am, but they don’t have your help.”

“That’s a very wise thing to recognise, Draco. That your parents are also healing from this war; this is the second time they’ve lived through this, is it not? It’s bound to leave some trauma for them.”

“I didn’t even think of it like that. My parents so blindly followed the Dark Lord for years before my birth that they’ve lived through his defeat not once, but twice.”

“It is something to recognise, I’m glad you’re not only recognising your healing but also theirs.”

Draco chuckles, rubbing a hand over his face.

“Let’s talk about the move from tutors to Hogwarts.”

“What would you like to know?”

“How did it feel? Leaving home for the first time for such an extended period of time? The school year takes up nine months of the year in the muggle world; I picture that it’s similar in the wizarding world.”

“You’re right. Hogwarts almost runs the same as muggle education; nine months of the year but with a different curriculum and no major inspections other than from the governors. The Ministry of Magic should not interfere with Hogwarts business.”

“That is fascinating. This area is a learning experience for me as well. For muggles, school lasts nine months of the year but what is learnt is set by the government and exam boards, and there are inspecting bodies that observe the schools and determine at what level it’s working at. The wizarding world is so interesting and different, yet not, but I’ve gone off topic. Forgive me, Draco. Tell me, how did it feel then to leave home for that first time?”

“You’re forgiven, Dr. Jenkins. I somewhat feel the same about the muggle education system.” Draco offers her a small smile before continuing, “Leaving home for the first time was terrifying; I was eleven years old and leaving my mother behind. I couldn’t show my fear, of course, I had the Malfoy reputation to think of. Mother kissed the top of my head, and father patted me on the shoulder. Then I got on the train. I shed a few years in private on the train, but I soon fell in with the same crowd that I would socialise with at family parties.

“But here’s the thing: there is nothing in this world that matches the feelings of seeing Hogwarts School for Witchcraft and Wizardry for the first time. For the first years, they arrive at the castle on boats and looking up at the castle, truly seeing its size… it takes your breath away. At eleven years old, it’s a defining moment seeing it – the towers, the lights.

The pain I felt when I left there after the Battle of Hogwarts, seeing it reduced to rubble before my very eyes, I can’t fully describe it. For every student and teacher in the school, Hogwarts means something to them regardless of whether their time there was positive or negative.

“The Sorting Ceremony is where every new first year is sorted into their respective house. It’s a huge moment because it is done in front of the entire school. There are four houses: Slytherin, Ravenclaw, Hufflepuff, and Gryffindor. I was so nervous; I didn’t want to think of my father’s reaction if I wasn’t sorted into Slytherin. I knew he would disown me in spite of his need of an heir. Lucius Malfoy could not and would not have a son who was not a Slytherin.

“The first year at Hogwarts really is about settling in and finding your feet and your friends. I had offered such friendship to Harry Potter on our first meeting but was swiftly rebuffed in favour for Ron Weasley. Looking back, I can’t say I blame him. I was a pompous eleven-year-old with a superiority complex thanks to my early education. He probably smelled me a mile off.” Draco breaks off, chuckling to himself at the memory.

“I joined the Slytherin Quidditch team in my second year. Father celebrated by buying the team brand new brooms and when we out to practice, the Gryffindor team were heading to the pitch. The Slytherin captain, Marcus Flint had purposefully double booked the pitch to annoy the Gryffindor captain, Oliver Wood.

“It just so happened that Potter’s friends were there as well and interrupted the argument. Hermione threw out the accusation that my father had bought my way onto the team. If he did, I didn’t know because I had legitimately tried out for the team. Who knows? He wouldn’t tell me, and I wouldn’t ask. I was furious so I called her a ‘mudblood’ – it wasn’t like I hadn’t used the word before, and my parents had certainly used it around me. So I called her it and it shut her up which was all I wanted in that moment. Flint looked down at me once I said it and he looked proud of me, so I didn’t think it was a bad thing.”

“What does that word mean?” Dr. Jenkins asks, pausing Draco in his account of Second Year.

“Which one?” Draco asks, feigning ignorance. He knows what word she means.

“Mudblood.”

Draco feels his cheeks heat in shame, “It’s a derogatory name for muggle-born witches and wizards. It implies that the individual has ‘dirty blood’ because they were not raised by witches or wizards.”

Dr. Jenkins frowns, noting something on her pad. “Did you understand the meaning of the word when you were using it?”

Draco’s flush gets deeper, “I did.”

Dr. Jenkins simply nods. He expects a lecture, but he doesn’t get one. Instead, Dr. Jenkins motions for him to continue.

So he does:

“Then came the duelling club set up by Professor Lockhart. I was brought up and so was Potter. I was pretty confident in my duelling skills. After all, I had been raised by Lucius Malfoy, Death Eater. He’d taught me some spells in the extremely rare moments he felt like being a father. So I wasn’t concerned when it came to facing Potter who had been raised as a muggle until the age of eleven.

“He defeated me. In front of Professor Snape, the Head of my House. And I knew that it would get back to my father. I made sure to make Potter and his friends lives that little bit more unbearable after that; taunting them every chance I got – in class, in the corridor, in the Great Hall at mealtimes. Sly comments and digs all aimed at them. I was so angry and humiliated for what happened at duelling practice. It isn’t an excuse, but I was.

“It did get back to my father, by the way. I got a letter not even a week later detailing his disappointment in me and the shame I brought upon the Malfoy name. I read it and I felt grateful that I was at school, that I wasn’t anywhere in his vicinity when he got the news.”

He stops for a moment, collecting himself. He remembers the sheer relief that accompanied reading his father’s letter. He didn’t feel anything towards the words written on the parchment having heard them enough at home. He just felt increasing relief that he wasn’t at the manor, that he was nowhere near his father’s hands.

“It’s okay, Draco. We can stop any time you want to.” Dr. Jenkins reminds him, softly.

“No, it’s okay. We can continue.”

Draco explains the events of third year; the tighter restrictions placed on the school due to the escape of the convicted killer Sirius Black. His father was not happy with that; bringing his case from second year back to the governors. That Dumbledore was in fact inept at his job as headmaster of the school for witchcraft and wizardry.

As he continues to recount his early years at Hogwarts to Dr. Jenkins, Draco realises that his Third Year was the one academic year where his father wasn’t an imposing threat to him. That Draco wasn’t terrified of his father appearing over his shoulder to list his failures and unworthiness to the Malfoy name.

He comes to an end, shutting his mouth with a snap. “I’m sorry, I was talking a lot through this. I just wanted everyone to be terrified of me and run away from me so I could feel powerful, so I could understand some of the power my father felt every time he met with Death Eaters.”

“That’s okay, Draco. These sessions are for you; for you to tell your story.”

Draco drags a hand over his face, “I’m an awful person.”

“I disagree. You’ve done some awful things, but if you were truly an awful person at your very core, you wouldn’t be here getting the help you need. Draco, I’ve worked as a therapist for thirty years, I have worked on cases for some of the most heinous humans in this society. You are not an awful person.”

Draco falls back against the couch, slouching, “I’m scared that I’m always going to be seen as that bully.”

Dr. Jenkins makes a few final notes on her writing pad, digesting everything that Draco has told her. “In our first session, you told me you wanted to be a better man. That was your aim, if I remember.”

“Yes.”

“I want you to apologise to them – Harry Potter, Ron Weasley and especially Hermione Granger. I think you need to apologise to them. Draco, you were raised in a household that promoted prejudices that have no place in any society. You want to break the cycle of your family? Start here. You want to quash the fear that you’ll always be the bully? Start here.”

“I don’t think they’ll talk to me.”

“You don’t need to do it immediately, but as our sessions progress, I want you to feel secure enough within yourself to do so. They experienced the same war as you; just different perspectives.”

Draco’s silent for a moment; calculating every outcome of contacting them – the positive and the negatives. On one hand, they could accept his apology and further his progress. On the other hand, he could have his teeth knocked out by Hermione. He’s been on the receiving end of her punches; it isn’t something he wants to relive any time soon.

Dr. Jenkins watches the man in front her deliberating every possibility of him apologising. From his explanation, his bullying was a result of his home life and his early education tied in with the desperate need to maintain Slytherin’s reputation as the ‘mean house’. He saw how different these three individuals were and the rebuff of his offer of friendship to Harry Potter was reason to enough to torment them.

Draco hails from an old family that worshipped their wealth, traditions and reputation. As the only son; the only heir, it was his responsibility to protect that. Anything or anyone that could potentially reflect badly on his family, needed to be put in their place. That very thought process was the result of his upbringing.

Eventually, he nods, “Let’s make that our target for this week: get in contact with them asking to meet so I can apologise.”

“That sounds like a good idea, Draco.”

“Thank you, Dr. Jenkins. Again, I’m sorry for talking your ear off and for what you had to hear. I’m afraid it only gets worse from here.”

“There’s nothing to apologise to me for, it’s all part of my job. Helping you get to the place that you want to be.”

“Of course, I’ll see you next week.”

“See you next week, Draco.”

\-------------

Draco is too amped up to apparate straight home, so he starts to walk around London. He ambles about for an hour before ducking into a small side street café. He takes a seat at the table by the window before looking around the café. It’s homely; old pictures of London in the 1940s and 1950s line the walls, red and white gingham cover the tables. It’s loved, Draco thinks.

“What can I get you?” A lilting voice asks. Draco has to blink so he can focus on her face.

He blushes at the sight of her; she’s quite possibly the most beautiful girl he’s ever laid eyes on. “Oh… a black coffee please.”

“Anything to eat?”

“Not right now.”

She smiles, “I’ll be right back with your drink.”

He smiles too late; she’s already walked away.

For a long time, Draco stares at the window and watches muggles go about their daily lives with not a care in the world and with no knowledge of the existence of witches, wizards and other magical creatures. It’s blissful ignorance, Draco thinks, and he cannot help but wish he were among them. Entirely clueless to the existence of the wizarding world and the dangers it holds.

He shakes himself out his reverie when he thinks back to his session with Dr. Jenkins and the target he set for himself at the end of the appointment. He looks down at the coffee now sitting in front of him and he silently kicks himself for not paying enough attention to his surroundings for when the waitress came back.

Draco takes a drink of the piping hot coffee, only wincing slightly at the bitter, acrid taste. He’ll need the caffeine kick for the letters he’s about to write. He sighs as he pulls a pen from an inside pocket and grabs a napkin from the stand.

He doesn’t know what to say… that isn’t true. He knows what he wants to say, he just doesn’t know how to phrase it in a way that means they’ll take him seriously. He’s done so much damage that there’s very little chance they’ll read his letters; instead, noting the signature before simply throwing it away.

He taps the pen on the gingham covered table; beating out a tuneless song as thought after thought flow through his head.

Eventually, some thoughts make their way onto the napkins in front of him. He’ll write the full letters later on when he’s home in the privacy of his own room.

\-------

“Sir?” The lilting voice from earlier asks.

Draco looks up; looks into her eyes and realises that he’s halfway to being bewitched by her. He can’t help but internally question whether she has any Veela lineage because he seems to be captivated by every part of her – from her hair and how it falls effortlessly to her shoulders, all the way to her feet covered by tattered black and white trainers.

“It’s Draco,” He introduces.

“Like the constellation?” She questions.

“Exactly like the constellation. Not many people know that.”

She smiles bashfully, “I like the stars.”

“I seem to be at a disadvantage, love. You know my name, but I still don’t know yours.”

She gasps, “Oh! I didn’t even think, I’m (Y/N),” pointing at the name badge attached to her t-shirt.

“(Y/N)… That’s a beautiful name.” He states, because it’s true. It rolls off his tongue effortlessly. He repeats it in his head like a mantra. _(Y/N), (Y/N), (Y/N)._

“Thank you, Draco.”

Draco thinks that he likes the sound of his name coming from her mouth.

(Y/N) puts a hand on her hip, frowning as she says, “I’m sorry but I’m going to have to kick you out. It’s past closing time.”

Draco blushes, standing, putting the scrawled-on napkins in the pockets of his jacket, “I’m sorry, I’ll be on my way.”

“No. no, it’s okay!” She laughs, “Wait for me as I lock up?”

“Of course.”

It doesn’t take her long to finish closing; she had cashed up while Draco was bent over the napkins writing away as if he was running out of time.

He follows her out of the café, waiting patiently as she locks the door and pulls down the shutter.

She smiles as she turns to him, and it knocks him breathless. “I’m heading this way,” she says, pointing in the direction of what Draco thinks is a tube station.

“I’m heading that way too.”

“We can walk together if you’d like?”

Draco nods, gesturing for her to lead the way.

She takes the lead, quiet for only a second before asking, “So what were you writing back at the café? You would write so fast then would slow down as if you were running out of steam.”

“I was drafting some letters I need to write.”

“Don’t you have their phone numbers?”

She’s a muggle, he thinks. No Veela in her whatsoever.

Draco shakes his head, “It isn’t something that I can talk about over the phone.”

(Y/N) nods her head, “I get that. Letter writing is a dying art anyway; it’s nice that you would rather write a letter than texting.” She waves her phone around to emphasise her point; Draco vaguely wonders how on earth they work.

They continue to talk on the way to the tube station. Draco doesn’t remember the last time he had a conversation with someone that wasn’t about war strategies or pure-blood supremacy. (Y/N) simply asks him about his day, and in return he asks the same. It’s pleasant small talk, and for the first time in a long time, Draco feels comfortable with speaking to someone. Doesn’t feel worried that what he says is going to be reported back to his parents or the Dark Lord.

They arrive at the tube station too soon.

“Will I see you again?” She asks, her eyes on the ground, “What I mean is, will you be back at the café? I’d like to know whether you drink and eat more than a single cup of coffee.”

“So you’d like to see me again for my health?”

She nods, eyes full of promise, happy to have an excuse handed to her, “Yes. Yes, entirely for your health.”

“Then to settle your mind, I’ll be back at your café the same time next week.”

She grins, teeth sparkling despite the lack of light, “Great… that’s great. I shall see you next week then.”

He waves once, beginning to turn away, “I’ll see you next week, (Y/N).”

As he walks away from her to apparate back to the manor in privacy, he realises that his conversation with her is the first time he’s truly smiled in a long time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading!
> 
> Feedback is always appreciated so if you enjoyed, please leave a kudos and a comment!
> 
> Tumblr: @iliveiloveiwrite


	4. Chapter Three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Draco gets some answers.
> 
> This chapter deals with some particularly dark themes; please read the warnings in the note below before reading.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally posted on my Tumblr: @iliveiloveiwrite
> 
> WARNINGS: mentions of depression, ptsd, insomnia, suicidal ideations, mentions of abuse (emotional and physical), mentions of treatments, mentions of food, mentions of arranged marriages.
> 
> Feedback is always appreciated, so if you enjoyed, please leave a kudos or a comment!

Through the week, Draco finds his mind wandering to (Y/N) more than he’d like to admit. He’d think of what she could be doing at the café, whether she was happy in her job there, what she would be like outside of work – her hobbies, her passions. If he was feeling particularly self-destructive, he would wonder whether she had a partner and if she loved them. He had a hard time containing his jealously over what could possibly be a relationship he had completely conjured up in his mind.

However, Draco knew he was nowhere near healthy enough mentally to maintain a healthy and loving relationship.

He stares at the three letters on his desk; the cream envelopes taunting him. Draco huffs as he shoves them into the inside pocket of his coat, making a mental note to hand them to the post owl before he leaves for therapy.

\---------

Draco has started to greet Dr. Jenkins’ secretary by name. “Good afternoon, Vivian, how are you?”

Vivian rolls her eyes at the young man; he is the politest out of the doctors patients, “Good afternoon, Draco. I’m fine, thank you for asking. Dr. Jenkins is already waiting for you, you can go on in.”

“Thank you, Vivian.” Draco says, knocking twice on the door before entering.

He shakes Dr. Jenkins hand as always before sitting down the couch that he’s become so used to, he’s considering buying one for the drawing room in the manor.

“How have you been Draco?”

“Okay, actually. My mother is thinking of redesigning the gardens so she’s keeping me busy by asking for my opinions and such. I wrote the letters that we discussed as well, I sent them just before coming here.”

“It sounds like you’ve had a positive week.”

Draco hums, agreeing with the doctor. “I’m still struggling with sleep, I haven’t slept through the night at all this week, but I’m feeling more positive about my relationship with my mother. She really is trying with me, it’s only fair that I put in the same amount of effort.”

“That’s a nice way to look at it. In regards to your sleep, would you like to add that to your overall aims for our sessions? To become a better man and to sleep through the night?”

“Yes, I think that would work.”

“Of course,” Dr. Jenkins says, writing a few words in her pad. She looks up at Draco as she says, “Continuing on with school from our last session.”

“The next part of my education is dark; it isn’t something I like to revisit if I can help it.”

“Tell me only as much as you can. We can stop the session whenever.”

Draco takes a deep breath, steadying himself for the secrets he’s about to unveil, “Everything changed after Potter brought back Diggory’s body in the final trial of the Triwizard Tournament. Things changed at school; things changed at home. My father had already made his displeasure with me known after a Death Eater disguised as Mad-Eye Moody transfigured me into a ferret and humiliated me in front of a crowd of students. he wasn’t bothered about the transfiguration; it was the fact that a Malfoy was laughed at.

“The end of my fourth year at Hogwarts brought lots of changes at home. We began hosting lots of different people who have known my parents longer than I have been alive. My mother is a natural born hostess, so she was completely in her element with the different people coming and going, but there was fear as well. She was scared of something and I didn’t put two and two together until it was far too late.

“Through my Fifth Year, Hogwarts underwent some major changes in terms of its running. I was named a Prefect for Slytherin and I swore that I could see a glimmer of pride in my father’s eyes when I told him. But the Ministry of Magic began to interfere with Hogwarts and its governance; they reacted out of fear. The Minister for Magic knew that the Dark Lord had returned but refused to accept it, so he sent Dolores Umbridge to Hogwarts as the new Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher and as a spy for the Ministry. As she gained power, I joined her Inquisitorial Squad – again, feeling nothing but proud of myself when father sent me a letter praising my actions. Umbridge believed that there was an organisation in Hogwarts that was opposing her regime and it was my responsibility to find it. I knew who had started it, it was just a matter of finding proof.

“They were almost expelled when we found them. I don’t know how they weren’t. I was so ridiculously proud of myself for stopping their organisation, I was given house points and I felt so superior. I just didn’t know that they were training to fight for a better future; that they were to dismantle the traditions of our society.

“I remember my father returning from the Department of Mysteries; Bellatrix has arrived moments earlier cackling that she had killed her own cousin, that she had murdered Sirius Black. When my father arrived home, he was trembling. Shaking from head to toe and I know it’s because he failed to retrieve the prophecy. The Dark Lord had made it my father’s only mission, and he had failed and now he had to suffer the consequences.

“The week after his punishment, I hid in every nook and cranny of the manor, hoping that he wouldn’t find me. His temper had reached epic proportions; you physically feel the anger rolling off of him in waves and I didn’t want to be caught in the crossfire. He was sent to Azkaban, the wizard prison somewhere in the North Sea. My own father, a prisoner. I feel ashamed to admit that I felt some relief at that because he couldn’t get close enough to me to dole out his punishment.

“My sixth year was hellish. It’s this year that affects me the most; that causes the sleepless nights and constant pressure of paranoia in my head. I didn’t get a choice; my own free will was ripped from me and it left me bare and vulnerable. I was forced into the same fanatical group that my parents had so foolishly joined all those years ago, but what they don’t tell you is that there’s an initiation process. I had to sit there and keep quiet as they tattooed my skin against my will; I had to keep my sobs and screams trapped inside so I didn’t ruin the reputation of my family in the eyes of the Dark Lord. And when it was done, I left for the bathroom. I stayed in the shower for over an hour, scrubbing my skin red raw.”

“That’s understandable, Draco. Your body stopped being wholly yours. You were violated.”

Draco nods; the weight on his shoulders feeling somewhat lighter but still with a heavy load upon them. Draco thinks back to the beginning of Sixth Year; to the train ride to Hogwarts. He thinks of his words to Blaise about the state the school was falling into with a distracted headmaster and the rise of the Dark Lord.

He remembers the pull to the astronomy tower; his subconscious telling him no, he didn’t need to go but his feet weren’t connected to his brain and he found himself stood at the edge of the tower, leaning over into the abyss, wondering.

Draco lets his head fall into his hands as he thinks back to that moment. As he remembers what he yearned for in that singular instant.

It was that one minute of ideation that Draco pinpoints as the start of his downfall.

He remembers hearing the laughter of the party being held by Professor Slughorn and knew that if he was to re-enter the party, the laughter would die out like the wick of burnt down candle.

But out of all it; out of all the emotions he felt that night, he felt loneliness the strongest. It felt like an endless cavern within him; never getting smaller, only growing larger with each passing day.

Dr. Jenkins watches all of this; watches every emotion that flits over Draco’s face. He’s experiencing memory after memory and they aren’t positive, they aren’t happy. He’s reliving it all again; ripping himself open, tearing himself down so he can rebuild himself as a better person. His thoughts and feelings that night in the astronomy tower need to be addressed and they will be addressed in a alter session. Dr. Jenkins wants to focus on the violation he felt at the hands of the mark now sitting on his left forearm.

He takes a deep breath and proceeds to tell Dr. Jenkins the rest of the events of Sixth Year. His task to kill Dumbledore; the greatest wizard ever to have lived. The duel in the bathroom with Potter; the pain from the Sectumsempra curse that left him bleeding on the bathroom floor. The phantom pains still haunted him; dragged him from sleep when his nightmares become too much.

Dr. Jenkins takes this all in gracefully despite being naturally horrified at the abuse. Draco trails off after explaining the events of Sixth Year; his eyes glaze over and it’s clear to Dr. Jenkins that he’s in a memory of another.

She clears her throat, enough to bring him back to the present.

“The tattoo – can it be covered?”

Draco shakes his head, “I haven’t heard of it being possible since it’s a magical mark, but from what I’ve seen of my fathers, it fades overtime.”

“I want to try an exercise with you if that’s okay?” Dr. Jenkins asks, standing from her chair, walking over to her desk. She opens one of the many draws and pulls out pens upon pens upon pens.

“Of course. What do you have in mind?”

She hands Draco the marker pens from her drawer. “I want you to cover the mark, I want you to see if the mark can be covered by different ink. I don’t want you to think of getting it covered with another tattoo, I think the process would be too much of a trigger. But I want you to doodle all over it – see if it can be covered.”

Draco looks at her sceptically but takes the pens regardless. He shrugs off his suit jacket, rolling up the sleeve to his white dress shirt. He notices when Dr. Jenkins attention goes to the mark on his arm; eyes running over the snake winding itself out of the mouth of a skull. Draco knows that it’s hideous, but he is thankful when all Dr. Jenkins does is sit back down in her chair, her eyes on him at all times, gauging his reaction.

He draws the first line over the Dark Mark, a line down the middle of it – splitting it in two. Then he waits; to see if the ink dissolves, to see if his arms starts to burn – he doesn’t know. But what he knows is that neither of those things happen; the line remains.

Draco chokes back a sob, but Dr. Jenkins has tissues at the ready. She hands one to Draco before settling back in her chair, watching the young man doodle shapes and patterns across his left forearm. His eyes widen with wonder and relief when he can no longer see the mark on his skin.

“How long does it last?” Draco asks, not taking his eyes off his arm.

“A day or so depending on your bathing schedule.”

Draco nods, running a finger over his colourful skin. His eyes still wide with disbelief; the remaining Death Eaters had said that the mark couldn’t be covered, that it couldn’t be removed. That it was as bad as a curse scar. Draco thinks back to Snape and how he kept his covered at all times. It’s a temporary solution; the ink will wash away, and Draco will once again be left staring at the mark maiming his arm, but he is more than happy to spend the time drawing over it with different colours and patterns if it means that he can choose to never see it again.

“Take the markers with you.”

“They’re yours, I can’t do that.”

Dr. Jenkins waves a hand, “It’s nothing for you to worry about, I have draws full of them. I’ll tell you a secret: I love buying stationery. Take them, Draco, and when the sight of the mark becomes overwhelming or when you need a distraction, doodle over it. You did not get to choose whether the mark was put on you; you now get to choose what you cover it with.”

Draco sniffles, wiping his eyes with a tissue, “Thank you,” he croaks.

“It’s what I’m here for. We’re here to help you become a better man. You laid the foundations, Draco. We’re just building the rest of it now.”

“Thank you, Dr. Jenkins.”

“Draco, it is you doing the healing. I’m simply prompting.”

Draco smiles at the doctor sitting across from him; feeling grateful for everything she has done for him so far. He looks down at his left arm, the disgust he used to feel at the sight of the dark mark is still there but it’s minimal. He can cope with it because he now knows he has an alternative. He makes a mental note to ask (Y/N) for a muggle stationery store so he can stock up on markers of different colours.

“We need to address the aftermath of the duel in the bathroom.”

Draco closes his eyes; the phantom pains bringing the memory back with sharp focus.

“It was only a matter of minutes. Minutes, and my life was almost ended. I had duelled Potter in the past and he mainly stuck to safe, defensive spells. I didn’t expect him to use the Sectumsempra curse. It isn’t a widely known curse; I only knew of it because of Death Eaters. I didn’t know that it was Professor Snape who had created the curse to be used on enemies.

“It happened so fast, yet I remember it all. The pain was blinding, and it was everywhere. Burning me from the inside out. I could feel the blood leaving my body; pulsing out of me. And Potter just stands there, in shock because he used a curse he did not know the consequences of.”

Draco takes a deep breath, reigning in his anger before continuing:

“There isn’t a lot that I will commend Professor Snape for. He was a good Potions tutor and Head of House, but he wasn’t a good man. However, I thank every god and deity out there that he was following the sounds of the duel and he recognised the signs of his own curse. He healed me, but there are still some scars. Physically and emotionally.”

He shivers as he thinks back to that moment in the bathroom; feeling Snape heal him. It isn’t something he’s likely to ever forget.

“Draco, I’m going to diagnose you here and now.”

He leans back into the couch, “Okay…”

“From this session and our past ones, I’m certain you have Post Traumatic Stress Disorder, or as its better known by its acronym, PTSD.”

“What does that mean?”

“PTSD is an anxiety disorder brought on by distressing, stressful and frightening events such as the duel in the bathroom, the abuse in your childhood and adolescence, and the Second Wizarding War. Someone who has PTSD often relives the trauma through nightmares and/or flashbacks which contributes to the insomnia that you’ve been experiencing.”

Draco’s face falls blank, “How do we treat this? How long does it last?”

Dr. Jenkins removes her glasses, folding them before replying, “We continue as we have been doing. We’re going to continue to set your weekly targets. In some cases, PTSD can improve naturally, but given the events in your past, it’s more complex. But this isn’t something for you to worry about, Draco,” Dr. Jenkins stresses, “I have been doing this job for over thirty years, I have treated patients with PTSD, and they live very fulfilling lives. We’ll continue with your weekly targets as well as guided help.”

Draco releases a shaky breath, nodding along to her words. He has an official diagnosis; he has a name for the relentless onslaught of sleepless nights and depressive days. 

“Okay. Let’s start with getting me better.”

“That’s a very positive attitude, it’s refreshing.” Dr. Jenkins chuckles, “So many patients dread their diagnosis; but you take it in your stride. You want to get better, be a better man and start sleeping through the night, so the diagnosis is one more step to getting there. It will be a long process, but I’m confident we can do this.”

“I’m happy to have a diagnosis. Where do we start?”

“First with this: whilst you need to apologise to Harry Potter, he also needs to apologise to you.”

Draco’s eyes snap back open, “What?”

“Part of your closure needs an apology from him; he used a curse he had absolutely no knowledge of. You cannot accept this.”

Draco frowns, “I wouldn’t even know how to approach him for an apology without seeming hostile on my end.”

“From what you’ve told me of him, it wouldn’t surprise me if Harry already knows he needs to apologise for it.”

“He has a conscience, that’s why.”

Dr. Jenkins frowns, “You have one of those too, Draco. You wouldn’t be here if you didn’t. You wouldn’t have sent the letters in the first place if you didn’t. You wouldn’t want to apologise if you didn’t. You’re becoming a better man than you’re giving yourself credit for.

Draco tries to swallow past the lump in his throat to no success, “Thank you, Dr. Jenkins.”

“You’re welcome, Draco.”

“What should my target for this week be?”

“What do you think it should be?” Dr. Jenkins counters.

“I want to come to terms with the mark on my arm now I know I can cover it up.”

“That sounds like a very good target, Draco.” Dr. Jenkins starts, writing it down in her pad, “By coming to terms with the mark, by designing it into something new, you’re effectively moving on from that part of your life. It will always be a part of you, but you aren’t letting it control you anymore.”

Draco stands up, wiping his eyes one final time with the tissue from Dr. Jenkins, “Thank you everything today, Dr. Jenkins. I’m pretty sure you’re a miracle worker.”

Dr. Jenkins laughs, “Thank you, Draco. But I think you’ll find that it is you who is working the miracle, I’m simply here to observe.”

“All the same, thank you.” Draco offers her his hand which she shakes twice before dropping it.

“You’re very welcome. I’ll see you the same time next week.”

“You will,” Draco confirms before leaving the office. He bids goodbye to Vivian at the front desk before walking into the brisk air of the mid-afternoon.

\-------

The bell above the door rings as he enters the café he had spent so much time this past week imagining. The table he sat at last time is free, so he makes his way to it, taking off his jacket in the process and draping it across the back of his chair. He likes this view, he decides. He spent so much time in the latter half of his adolescence in the background; ignored, looked over. Draco decides that he rather likes the idea of having someone’s eyes land on him as they look through the window of the café. He likes the idea that someone could look at him and create an entirely new life for him; a happy one that isn’t filled with so much darkness and trouble.

“You came back!” Her voice chimes, full of happiness.

“I did, I made a promise.”

“What can I get you?” She asks, pulling out a notepad and pen.

“A black coffee please.”

“Anything to eat?”

“What do you recommend?”

She smiles, making her eyes crinkle in the corners, “I recommend the lemon drizzle cake, personally. I made it this morning.”

“Then I’ll have a slice of that with the coffee.”

“An excellent choice, if I say so myself.”

She turns away before he can reply, walking off to grab his drink and food. She’s back within a moment though, placing his coffee and cake in front of him with a smile.

“Thank you. It looks delicious.”

He takes a bite of the cake, almost moaning at the taste of it. The right amount of citrus balanced with the icing. It’s wonderful, and he has to stop himself from devouring it then and there but to pace himself… like a gentleman.

A cough breaks him from his daydream; he looks up to find himself looking into her eyes, “I’m just about to start my break actually. Do you mind if I join you?”

“Not at all, take a seat.” He says, gesturing to the chair across from him.

She takes off her apron, laying it on the back of the chair as she shouts to someone in the back saying that she’s taking her break, she’ll be back on in twenty minutes.

She turns her attention to Draco, smiling widely at him.

“How have you been, Draco? Did you send the letters you mentioned last time?”

“I’ve been okay, thank you (Y/N). And yes, I did send the letters. Here’s hoping I get a reply.”

“Why wouldn’t you get a reply?” (Y/N) asks, stealing his fork to take a bite of the cake.

He picks up a second fork from the holder on the table, shrugging, “I wasn’t a nice person when they knew me, I wasn’t nice to them. I wouldn’t blame them if they never replied.”

“I’d reply,” She reassures.

Draco smiles at her, taking a bite of the cake, “This is really good by the way.”

She avoids his eyes, “Thank you. It’s my grandmother’s recipe.”

He points his fork at her, “You’re an excellent baker. If there’s any left, I want to take a slice back home. My mother would love this cake.”

(Y/N) grins widely, “I’ll hide a slice or two for you.”

“How did you know my name was a constellation?” He asks, changing the subject to sate his need to find out more about her.

“I used to stargaze with my grandfather. It was his hobby; he’d take me with him some evenings and point out the constellations whilst telling me the stories behind them. Draco is the dragon. One of the stories says it was the dragon Ladon that inspired the constellation; Ladon guarded the golden apples of Hesperides. Ladon was killed by Heracles as part of his twelve labours; Heracles had to steal the golden apples. Draco was created in memoriam of Ladon.”

He looks at her wide-eyed, in awe. “It’s tradition on my mother’s side to name children after stars and constellations.”

“That’s an excellent tradition.”

“I’ll be sure to let her know. What else do you like to do?”

“Draco, are you trying to get to know me?” She asks, humour lining her voice.

“I think I am. How about this – I ask one question and after you answer, you get to ask me a question.”

“Agreed.”

“I’ve already asked mine, I’m just waiting for your answer, love.”

Her face flushes at the use of the endearment, “What do I like to do? I like to read; I always have a book in my bag that I can get out whenever. I love music, I don’t play anything, but I love listening to music and going to local concerts.”

“What’s your favourite book?” Draco asks, before he can stop himself.

“I do believe it’s my turn to ask the question now.”

“You’re right. I got too excited,” Draco admits.

“Okay, my question… What’s your surname?”

“You want to know my last name?”

She nods, “I only know your first name. If we’re going to get to know each other, I should know your last name.”

He chuckles, “You’re right. It’s Malfoy.”

“Draco Malfoy,” She says, testing the name. Draco feels as if his heart has stopped and it needs a jump start. He didn’t think he would enjoy hearing anyone say his name; he’s heard it muttered with disdain and disappointment so often. But hearing it come out of her mouth, watching her lips form the words – his heart stops.

Draco internally chides himself; he is nowhere near healthy enough to even think of having a relationship. But a small voice in the back of his mind reminds him that it is okay to have feelings for someone; he doesn’t have to act on his feelings immediately, he can admire from a distance for now and that’s okay too.

Someone from the back of the café shouts for (Y/N), reminding her that her break was up. She rolls her eyes, gesturing to the nearly empty café as she wraps her apron back around her waist.

“Let’s make another promise, Draco Malfoy.”

“What do you have in mind?”

“Every time you come here, I get to ask you questions and you get to ask me questions. It means you have to come back every week.”

“I think I can manage that,” He promises.

“Let’s make it official,” She says, holding out her pinkie finger. He looks between her and her finger. “It’s a pinkie promise, Draco. You can’t break them.”

Draco wraps his pinkie around hers; she squeezes once before pulling away.

“Before, I forget!” She walks away but is back in no time with two slices of lemon drizzle cake in a takeaway box. “For you to take home.”

Draco reaches into his pocket for his wallet, but her hand on his arm has him freezing in place. “Don’t worry about it,” She says, “It’s on the house.”

“Thank you,” He says earnestly, taking the box of cake from her.

“Before I go, I have one more question, but it’s a general one, I promise.”

“Of course, what is it?”

“Where’s the closest stationery shop?”

Her eyebrows furrow, curiosity filling her face, “There’s a W.H. Smith’s down the road – turn left from here and it’ll be on your right. You can’t miss it, it’s a huge shop with a big, blue logo.”

“Thank you,” Draco answers, putting his jacket on.

“I’ll see you next week?” She asks, voice full of hope and promise.

“You’ll see me next week. Same place, same seat, same time.”

Her answering grin is mesmerising.

\---------

Draco leaves the café, following her directions to the stationery shop she named as W.H. Smith’s. He finds it in no time and asks a worker to help him find the permanent markers. He grabs the biggest box they have and makes his way to the checkout, thanking Merlin that he remembered to convert some of his money into muggle money before coming to London. He admires the markers as they’re put into a bag – he chose the ones that had metallic colours as well as neon, so he had more choice when it came to redrawing his arm.

He ducks into a side street to apparate home; markers and lemon drizzle cake all in tow.

As he walks up the main path, he waits for the familiar fog to drape over him, but it doesn’t wrap around him with the intensity that it usually does. He expects to almost suffocate him after the session with Dr. Jenkins today and the topics covered. Instead, it washes over him, but he still remains breathing, still remains with his head above water. He’s now treading water instead of drowning.

Draco runs a hand over his left forearm, thinking of the dark mark now covered in brightly coloured ink in the shape of triangles, circles and squares. Covered in doodles, hiding what was once there.

Draco smiles, pride running through his veins. He’s making progress; he’s slowly turning into the man he wants to be.

\------

He finds his parents in the drawing room; sitting together in a more comfortable silence than the one he had grown used to over the last couple of weeks.

Narcissa beams at her son as he walks into the room, “Draco, dear, how are you? I feel as if I haven’t seen you all day.”

Draco throws his jacket on the arm of a chair before placing his bag full of permanent markers on the floor beside him.

“Hello, mother,” Draco greets, kissing her on the cheek, handing her the lemon drizzle cake so lovingly packed by (Y/N), “I’m fine, I had some errands to run and thought I would get them all done today.”

“Draco,” Lucius welcomes, “Did you have a productive day?”

“I did, thank you, father. I had some letters to post and then an appointment in London.”

“London” Narcissa questions, “That was a far way to go.”

“Unavoidable, I’m afraid.”

Narcissa raises an eyebrow at her son, eyes flitting between the cake in her lap and her son, “Do we get to be privy to this information?”

Draco sits across from his parents, his suit jacket thrown over the arm of the chair, “Of course, mother. I’ve been seeing a therapist.”

“A therapist? What on earth for?”

“To get better. I’m not sleeping, I’m having flashbacks. I’m not well.”

His parents are silent at his outburst; making the connections to his confrontation a matter of weeks ago. Narcissa looks at her son with pride; all she wants for him is to live a happy and healthy life, and it seems that he is beginning to take the right steps in that direction. Lucius feels some relief, at finally understanding the motivations behind his sons change of perspective; he is happy that his son is taking the steps he needs to get to where he needs to be.

“Is it helping? The therapy?” Lucius asks.

Draco nods, “It is. My therapist has said I’m making good progress; we make weekly targets that I try to achieve when I can and so far, that method seems to be working.”

Narcissa smiles, tears shining in her eyes, “Oh Draco, I’m so happy for you.”

“Thank you, mother. I need to talk to the both of you about something, I don’t want to put it off any longer.”

“Anything, Draco, you know that.” Narcissa states, firmly. She would not have her son keep any more secrets from her; she wanted to create the home environment where Draco could feel comfortable coming to her with any problem he may have.

Draco takes a deep breath, tensing as if expecting a bad reaction, “I don’t want an arranged marriage.”

Lucius whistles out a breath through his nose, trying to keep a lid on his temper which somewhat fizzles out as Narcissa places a hand on his leg. “Will you explain why?”

“I want the freedom of choice; I want to be able to choose the woman I’m going to marry and have her marry me because it is also her choice. I want the choice of love.”

“Draco, arranged marriages among pure blood families are to be expected.” Lucius reasons.

“What about you and mother? You were not arranged; it was a choice of love.”

Lucius’ entire argument crumbles before him. Draco was right; his marriage to Narcissa was a choice of love. She fought tooth and nail for the right to marry him; something she reminds him of as she squeezes his hand.

“You’re right, Draco.”

Draco leans into the back of couch, his face a mask of shock, “I’m right?”

Lucius nods, “You’re right. Your mother and I were not arranged; she fought for her right to marry me. We do not have the right to force an arranged marriage on you.”

Draco looks to his mother with wide eyes, “So I can marry who I want when the time comes?”

Narcissa nods, “Yes. We won’t stand in the way of who you want to marry. Just… let us meet her first, is that okay?”

Draco barks out a laugh, “Yes, mother. I won’t run away and elope.”

Narcissa smiles at her son, at the colour now in his cheeks. She had noticed a change in him these last couple of weeks; it was as if her son was transforming before her very eyes. Narcissa realises that it’s because she is finally beginning to see him as a man and not her little boy. After that night in the living room, where he confronted her about his childhood, she had started to see him for who he had become – a broken man trying to desperately put himself back together again.

“All this talk of marriage has me wondering whether you have something to tell us, Draco.” She teases, not missing the way the blush deepens on his cheeks and spreads to his neck and that he won’t make eye contact with her.

Draco can feel the heat in his cheeks spread to his neck at his mother’s words. His mind flashes to her, thinking of how she spent her breaks with him, sharing a slice of cake and making small talk. He wonders what her reaction would be if he was to tell her everything about himself; his magic, his family, his trauma. He wonders whether she would still talk to him. If he was in her shoes, he wouldn’t.

“No, mother. There’s nothing to tell. It was something I needed to discuss with you both.”

Lucius looks between his wife and his son, at the fondness coming off the both of them in waves. He clears his throat, “You’ll let us know though… if you do find someone that you want to marry?”

Draco nods at his father, “Yes, I will. I promise.”

The tension that was slowly growing in the room now dissipates and Narcissa looks down to the cake in her lap. Draco explains, “I called at a café before coming home, I saw the cake in the window and had to buy some. It’s lemon drizzle.”

Narcissa breaks off a piece of the moist cake, popping it into her mouth, “It’s delicious! Lucius, you need to try some of this!”

Lucius breaks off a piece of the cake, humming appreciatively at the taste.

Draco sits across from his parents; watching them share the cake between them. He feels lucky to be sat here, he’s grateful to be sat here. Draco realises that he’s slowly beginning to forgive his parents for his childhood.

He could only hope that the recipients of the letters he sent out this morning would feel the same.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading!
> 
> Feedback is always appreciated, so if you enjoyed, please leave a kudos or a comment!
> 
> Tumblr: @iliveiloveiwrite


	5. Chpater Four

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Draco receives replies.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is more of a filler chapter before the drama of the next chapter. Originally posted on my Tumblr @iliveiloveiwrite
> 
> WARNINGS: mentions of therapy, war, insomnia, depression, death, food, a time skip, feelings
> 
> Feedback is always appreciated, so if you enjoyed, please leave a kudos or a comment!

A month passes.

There are no replies from the letters he sent before his third session with Dr. Jenkins. Draco tries to push thoughts of the letters away, so he doesn’t work himself up.

He continues to make progress with Dr. Jenkins; something that she comments upon with every session. The session in which he spoke about the Battle of Hogwarts was difficult; describing that day – how he felt watching the place he once considered as home destroyed in front of his eyes. He explains to Dr. Jenkins that whenever he closes his eyes, he sees the dead bodies that littered the grand staircase in the entrance hall and that he hears the screams and cries of students he used to sit next to in lesson. He’d hear the heart wrenching sobs of Mrs. Weasley hunched over the dead body of her son. He could still feel the disgust that rippled through the crowd when the Dark Lord greeted him as one of his own; as his hands wrapped around his shoulders – the final nail in his social coffin.

Dr. Jenkins listens to it all; writing notes in her pad and offering advice when he needs it. They set his hardest target that day; he knows it will take some time to achieve, but he feels somewhat confident that he will achieve it one day. He leaves that session somewhat empty; he had reached the end of his story yet knows he still has so much farther to go. But he begins to make some decisions for himself; begins to look into ideas for his career. He knows what he wants to do, but he wants to make sure it’s set in concrete before announces his plans.

Draco’s relationship with his mother continues to improve. Draco finds himself seeking her company after a particularly hard day. Narcissa is always there waiting; ready to make hot chocolate should the situation need it. She’s ecstatic to see the change in her son; over the last month or so, he’s become happier within himself, as if he’s finally understanding and settling for who he wants to be. And that is all she has ever wanted for her son. Draco likes spending time with her; he helps her choose new flower arrangements for the garden and picks out feature fountains and it makes him happy. It helps bridge the gap that was wedged between them through his childhood.

His relationship with his father gets easier. The time they spend together doesn’t feel so awkward and forced; he doesn’t spend the time thinking of every piece of abuse he suffered at his hands. Instead, they talk about their ideas for the future and the renovations his mother is making to the manor. His father chuckles as he discusses her plans for making the manor more open. Draco sees the love in his father’s eyes, and wonders if he’ll feel that way about someone.

Draco and (Y/N) continue to dance around each other. They’re both aware of the attraction they feel for each other, but neither are ready to make the first move. Draco still doesn’t feel ready enough to take that plunge, but he accepted his feelings for the girl. He visits the café after every therapy session, and they continue to ask each other questions about themselves. (Y/N) even goes so far to ask him back to her flat; she had told him off, he had spent the entire evening in the café but had barely eaten anything

He told her about magic. He had to; he didn’t want to keep any secrets from her. He told her when they went back to her flat. They were sat on her couch; the television playing lowly in the background. And he confessed to her… about everything. His family, his education, the war, and his therapy.

She was silent as he explained everything and she was silent for a long time after, her eyes on the television but her mind far away as she digested everything. Her mind was running a mile a minute, working through everything Draco had said and she started to question whether that changed her feelings for him, but it didn’t. She still found herself utterly enchanted by him.

He stayed by her side; didn’t want to leave her. Couldn’t leave her.

Eventually she spoke - all she wanted was to see him act out a spell.

So he does; he pulls his wand out from his sleeve and whispers, “Lumos”. The pale light from the end of his wands lights up her face; exaggerating her features which transform into childlike wonder as she reaches out a hand to touch the light. And just like that, she believes. And just like that, she comes to the realisation that she doesn’t have a simple crush on the man in front of her. No, she’s in love with him. She probably has been since her eyes landed on him at the café, as she watched him scrawl on napkin after napkin.

From there, their relationship is easier. It’s constantly teetering on the edge of something more, of something the both of them desire. But it takes time to heal and they both want this to work, so they’re both happy to wait.

\-------

Breakfast at Malfoy Manor was always a quiet affair. Lucius Malfoy would read the paper from his spot at the head of the table; his eyes running over article after article published in The Daily Prophet. The corners of his mouth would either turn up or down when he had finished reading; the only reaction to the stories being printed.

Narcissa is sat to Lucius’ right, a slice of toast in her hand as her eyes pour over the latest plans for the garden. Draco watches her ignore the food for favour of blueprints and ink and he realises that this is her therapy; the blueprints are her Dr. Jenkins. Narcissa is working on herself by opening up her home and making it more welcoming. A surge of affection for his mother rushes through him; he smiles at her over his teacup.

The hooting of the family owl grab Draco’s attention. It swoops into the room and lands on its perch; envelope after envelope attached to its leg. Draco makes a mental note to give it some extra treats for carrying what looks to be such a heavy load.

His father is the one who retrieves the letters. He swiftly sorts them into piles for their addressee; handing three of the letters over to Draco.

He knows immediately what they are. He pushes away his breakfast; any appetite he once had has now evaporated into nothing.

Draco pushes his chair away; excusing himself, flashing what he hopes is a comforting smile at his parents as they watch him with worried eyes.

In his hand, he holds three separate replies for the three individual letters he sent more than a month ago.

He releases a shuddering breath as he breaks the wax seal on the first envelope.

\--------

Draco notices that Dr. Jenkins has gotten more plants. Now, the space underneath the windows is full of different types of plants. The new additions include a potted Fern as well as what looks to be a Monkey Face Plant. Draco thinks that he needs to send a thank you note to Professor Sprout for being so thorough in his education of flora and fauna; he somewhat understands Longbottom’s love for the subject.

The first thing Draco does after greeting Dr. Jenkins and exchanging pleasantries is hand her the three replies. She reads over each on in silence; taking her time to read over every word before handing them back to him.

“How do you feel about them?” She asks, crossing one leg over the other whilst taking the lid of her pen off.

Draco coughs, shifting on the couch, messing with the sleeve of his dress shirt, “Like I’ve made some progress. I didn’t think they would reply, I thought that my letters would be thrown in the bin and never thought of again especially after I didn’t hear anything for a while, but then the replies arrived.”

“I’m glad that you’re feeling as if you’ve made progress here, Draco. You’re working wonders.”

Dr. Jenkins notes with some pride, as she watches him fiddle with his shirt sleeve, that Draco has taken to removing his suit jacket in their sessions. He’s slowly starting to become comfortable in his own skin. Giving him the choice to cover his tattoo, whether it only be temporary, had been vital to his progress. 

“What’s your plan going forward?” Dr. Jenkins questions.

“Each said that they were happy to meet and discuss, that they would consider what I have to say. I would like to meet with them.”

“How does that make you feel?”

“I was shocked at first, that they even replied, but I can’t ask them for more than that. They’re willing to listen and I’m grateful for that. I just need to find a place we can meet.”

“Could you not invite them to your home?”

Draco shakes his head, “I couldn’t. One of them was tortured there whilst the other two were imprisoned. I have to be respectful of the fact that they won’t want to return there.”

“That is very respectful indeed, Draco.” Dr. Jenkins frowns, working out a solution in her head, “Would a public setting not work? What about the café you mentioned in one of our previous sessions?”

Again, Draco shakes his head, “It’s too public for starters, if something were to happen, we could unintentionally expose ourselves. Not to mention, I couldn’t put (Y/N)’s job in jeopardy by asking her to cater for five semi-stable witches and wizards.”

“You care a lot for (Y/N), it seems.”

“I do, that’s why I can’t meet them there. If anything was to happen to her, I would never forgive myself.”

“Talk to her, Draco. See what she thinks about this. What do you think about making that your target for this week: talk to (Y/N) about the meeting, hear her thoughts, then reply to Harry, Ron and Hermione?”

Draco nods, “I like the idea of that. Let’s make it that; I’m heading to the café now as it is.”

Dr. Jenkins stands, Draco following suit. They shake hands and each say their goodbyes until next week. Draco waves to Vivian at the front desk before leaving the building to see (Y/N).

Dr. Jenkins sits at her desk for a long time after Draco has left; thinking of their session, reading over the notes she has taken on him. As the sessions have continued, Dr. Jenkins has written down another aim for Draco in her writing pad. Draco wants to become a better person and he wants to sleep through the night without waking once but as Dr. Jenkins circles it with her pen, Draco needs to forgive himself.

He is already on the way to becoming a better man; making leaps and bounds in his progress that some of her patients haven’t made in years of treatment. It differs for every patient. But before Draco can sleep through the night peacefully, he needs to forgive himself and let go.

He needs to forgive himself for everything that he caused but also everything that he suffered.

\------

His table is always empty when arrives at the café; as if everyone knows that it’s his spot. He settles immediately into his seat, inhaling the homely scent of freshly cooked food. His stomach rumbles, desperate for a piece of whatever cake (Y/N) has made that morning.

“Draco! How are you?” She greets warmly.

“I’m good, (Y/N). How was your week?”

“All the better now for seeing you,” She flirts. It’s been like this between them for a couple of weeks; flirting banter that they both know means a lot more to them than they make it seem. (Y/N) understood Draco’s reservations around relationships, she did, but that didn’t mean she couldn’t flirt with him. And he hadn’t strictly told her she couldn’t; some of time he even flirted back in earnest. Those were her favourite moments because they always caught her off guard because it seemed so natural for him to respond to her in that way.

She grins as he blushes at her words, “What will you be having today, Draco?”

“What cake do you have?”

“It’s devil’s chocolate cake today; completely self-indulgent but delicious.”

“I’ll have a slice of that and a black coffee.”

“Coming up,” She says with a soft smile, walking away to grab his food and drink.

He grabs two forks from the cutlery holder in the centre of the table; knowing that (Y/N) would take her break the moment she came back with his order. He pushes the chair on the opposite side of the table out with this foot, so she can sit straight down with him.

She’s back in no time, placing the cake and coffee on the table before taking off her apron. She feels no need to shout to the kitchen saying she’s taking her break; they already know that will happen the moment Draco walks in the door. They don’t mind it either, it’s nice to see her happy.

They both grab a fork, digging into the large slice of cake. Draco lets out a soft moan at the taste of it; smirking a little when he watches (Y/N)’s face flush at the sound that left his mouth.

“As always, it’s delicious.” He compliments.

“Thank you, Draco.” She says, graciously.

“You should open a bakery; people would come from miles around to buy a slice of your cake.”

“That is the dream.” She sighs.

“It doesn’t have to be a dream.”

She frowns, “I have nowhere near the amount of money need to open and maintain a bakery.”

“What would you say to me helping you achieve that dream?”

“That I wouldn’t accept it.”

“Why not?”

“I couldn’t take your money, Draco. I would feel beholden onto you. I would owe you for the rest of my life and I don’t like the feeling of that.”

Draco watches her; the flame of her independence bright in her eyes. “Okay. Let’s dream about it then.”

She relaxes, “Thank you, Draco.”

“The last thing I want to do is make you feel like that, (Y/N). You’re happy to dream for now, so we shall. If you want to make that dream a reality, then we’ll look for other avenues, so you don’t feel like that. I hope you don’t mind me adding myself to your dream?”

(Y/N) grins, “I don’t mind it at all. I like the sound of it if I’m being honest.”

“I like the sound of it as well.”

They share soft smiles over another forkful of cake; both sitting through the flurry of emotions running between them.

“I finally got replies to the letters I sent last month.” Draco states, changing the subject to distract him from the feelings of want flooding his veins.

Her eyes widen, “That’s great news, Draco! Aren’t you happy about it?”

“I am! But I need to find somewhere we can meet and talk about everything. I wouldn’t ask them to come to the manor; they don’t have good memories there. But it can’t be in public in case something goes wrong.”

Draco groans at his predicament, letting his head fall into his hands. (Y/N) wants to laugh, but an idea forms in her head.

“Why don’t you all meet at my place?”

Draco’s head shoots up, “What? I can’t ask you to do that.”

“You’re not asking, I’m offering,” She says, smartly.

He shakes his head, “But still, I can’t ask you to offer up your home for this. It’s going to be tense and there’s such a high chance it could completely backfire. If something was to happen to you, I-” Draco breaks off, his eyes closing at the very thought.

She takes his hands in hers, “Nothing will happen, Draco. I’m sure of it, it will be fine.”

“They’re going to say some pretty awful things; you’re going to find out more of the awful things I’ve done.”

“You’ve already told me the majority and I’m still here aren’t I?”

He looks at her in wonder, in awe, “Yes… you are.”

“Use my flat, Draco. It’s okay. It can be completely neutral.”

Draco nods still not completely convinced, “Okay. I’ll send them an owl, telling them the place and time. Thank you, (Y/N).”

“Anything I can do to help. I can take the day off work so I can be there for you, if you’d like?”

He flips his hands so he can hold hers, “Yes please. You’re letting me use your home, I’d like you there.”

“Good. Because I wasn’t going anywhere.” She says, grinning at him. “You’re stuck me, Draco.”

“I think you’ll find that I won’t be complaining at all.” He says in a shameless attempt to flirt.

He’s rewarded when he sees her face flush.

They both dig their forks back into the cake; wistful smiles sent to each other as they battle to keep their feelings for the other in check.

\---------

He sends owls with his reply; suggesting a time and a place. Their answers come back quicker this time, all agreeing with him, happy with the time and place.

Draco takes a deep breath; the coil in his chest tightening even more as his mind runs through every single outcome of this meeting.

_It’ll be okay_ , he whispers.

But he cringes as the small voice in the back of his mind asks, _will it?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading!
> 
> Feedback is always appreciated, so if you enjoyed, please leave a kudos or a comment!
> 
> Tumblr: @iliveiloveiwrite


	6. Chapter Five

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Draco meets with Harry, Ron, and Hermione.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Five! 
> 
> WARNINGS: mentions of war, bullying, abuse (physical and emotional), mentions of death, blood, duelling, food, unresolved issues, swearing.
> 
> Feedback is always appreciated, so please leave a comment or a kudos if you enjoyed!

The doorbell rings at precisely 9:59am. Draco only knows this because of the digital clock (Y/N) keeps on her coffee table. A cold sweat breaks across his brow and his nerves settle into a riot. He’s more than nervous; he’s terrified. He has no idea how this will go. He can hear (Y/N) answer the door – his guests voices puzzled at her – who is she? Does she know Draco? Is this a trap?

They walk in in a single file. Hermione at the front with Ron following close behind her. Harry takes up the rear, but still ensuring that he’s close enough to Ginny to grab her should this turn out to be a trap.

Draco doesn’t blame them for thinking that way. He’s looked over his shoulder for years, checking for traps around corners. Why should he blame them for still thinking the same way?

Draco runs his eyes over the four of them; they’ve changed so much and yet not at all. It’s only been a couple of years, and they’ve all aged but he can still see their First-Year selves in their faces.

They each stare at him; Draco stands in greeting, fastening the button to his suit jacket.

“Please,” He gestures to the couch, “Sit down.”

They do, all without uttering a word to him. Draco wants to groan and hide his face in his hands, he’s so nervous it’s making him awkward. The atmosphere is so tense, he physically doesn’t know what to do or what to say. He opens his mouth but his voice is stuck in his throat.

He hears (Y/N) close the front door before she walks into the room. And he begins to calm down; feels his heartrate slow down to a normal pace.

She smiles as she walks over to him, gesturing to him to sit down.

He does.

(Y/N) sits on the arm of the chair, her hand resting on Draco’s shoulder. He places a hand on top of hers, rubbing his thumb over the back of her hand in a soothing motion that is more for his benefit than hers. The movement is watched by four pairs of eyes.

Draco clears his throat before speaking, “Thank you for coming. Merlin, thank you for even reading my letter. This is (Y/N), it’s her flat that she’s letting us use for this. I didn’t think a public place would work and I wouldn’t ask you to come to the manor.”

His eyes flicker to Hermione as she stiffens at the mention of his home.

“She’s a muggle,” Ron says, nodding towards (Y/N), as if unable to stop himself from pointing it out.

“I’m aware of that, yes.”

“You’re dating a muggle?” Ron asks; the filter between his mouth and brain disappearing at the sight of Draco in love with a muggle.

Draco shifts in his seat awkwardly, “We haven’t discussed that yet, but thank you for bringing it up.”

“But we will be discussing it later,” (Y/N) promises, her hand squeezing Draco’s shoulder lightly; a reminder – I’m here, and I won’t be going anywhere.

“Before anything happens, would anyone like a drink? Or some cake? I baked it fresh this morning.” (Y/N) offers.

Hermione smiles politely, “I’d love a coffee, please.”

Ginny seconds that. Ron asks for the flavour of cake; deciding to have a slice when he’s told it’s Red Velvet.

The silence that falls upon the room once (Y/N) leaves is stifling. Draco doesn’t know what to say or where to look so he focuses his attention on (Y/N)’s bookshelves, committing the titles to memory.

“How long have you known (Y/N), Draco?” Hermione asks before Draco can move onto the second shelf of books. Polite small talk to break the tension in the room.

Draco thinks back, “Just over two months. She works in café in London. I walked in, sat down and that was it.”

Something in Hermione’s face softens at his words, “She’s lovely.”

“She is, isn’t she?”

Ron chuckles, dropping a hand on Hermione’s knee, “Never thought I would see the day. Draco Malfoy in love with a muggle.”

“A lot has changed since our days at Hogwarts.”

“So it seems,” Harry says; his first words since entering the room.

Draco opens his mouth to reply but is stopped by (Y/N)’s return. She’s balancing a tray full of food and drink and though he knows she is more than capable of managing it because of her job, it doesn’t stop him from leaping up to take it from her.

He places the tray on the coffee table between them all; it acting as a No-Man’s Land in this situation. They wait until he has sat back down before reaching for their food and drinks. (Y/N) has even poured Harry a glass of water despite him remaining silent. 

Ron lets out a happy moan with the first bite of his cake; Draco grins at that.

“It’s delicious, isn’t it? (Y/N) is a wonderful baker.”

Ron nods, “It is. Would it be too inappropriate for me to ask for some to take home? Even if this goes badly?”

(Y/N) laughs, “I’ll wrap you up a couple of slices now and then you won’t feel so bad afterwards whatever the outcome.”

She leaves the room again. Draco watches the four adults sat in front on him – Ron pestering Hermione to try a bite of the cake, smiling when she does and when she agrees with his statement. Harry’s eyes don’t leave him; as if he’s waiting for the trap to snap them up.

Draco lets out a long-suffering sigh, “I only want to talk, Potter.”

“So your letter said. I just can’t imagine why.”

The tension in the room begins to heighten; the five of them tensing at the feel of it slowly poisoning the room.

(Y/N) returns from the kitchen, a Tupperware box in her hands. She looks around the room, handing the box to Ron, “So we’re starting, are we?” She asks, taking her place next to Draco on the arm of his chair.

“Why are we here?” Harry blurts out. “I don’t understand. I read your letter, but I’m still confused.”

“Can I start at the beginning? Provide some context for you all?”

Hermione nods, leaning forward, “That would be best.”

Draco nods, offering her a small smile, “I started seeing a therapist almost three months ago. I was struggling with the aftermath of the Battle of Hogwarts; you remember it, I don’t need to explain how awful it was. Anyway, we were working through every aspect of my life – my childhood, my adolescence and the early school years, and then everything in Sixth and Seventh Year. I told her how I was a bully, how awful I was towards all of you. At the end of every session, we set weekly targets – there isn’t a time limit for them, but I set them as almost progress trackers. That week, the target I set was to apologise to you all.

“My therapist and I both agree that to begin getting closure for us all, I need to apologise.

“I’m sorry. I am so incredibly sorry for my actions in Hogwarts; for the bullying, for the comments and the name-calling.” He directs his next words towards Hermione, whose eyes had not left him since he started talking, “I knew the meaning of what I was calling you, but I didn’t know better. I’m sorry for that, I’m sorry to all of you for how I acted.

“I’m not asking for your forgiveness. Truthfully, I don’t think I deserve it. I just wanted to apologise so I can begin to move on and start my life. I’ve been in limbo for so long, I want to start living now.”

(Y/N)’s hand squeezes his shoulder when he finally falls silent.

“How can you expect us to forgive you? Just like that?” Harry spits, his voice sharp.

“I don’t, that’s why I wanted to have this meeting,” Draco urges, “I want to move on, I want us all to move on.”

“You bullied us. You called Hermione awful names; you made fun of Ron and his family. I can’t believe you, you’ve got some nerve, Malfoy.”

Draco directs his gaze to Hermione, “I don’t have an excuse for the names I called you. For what my Aunt did to you. I truly don’t, I should have stepped in sooner that day, but I didn’t because I was terrified for my family. And as for the names? I was a ridiculous little boy who had been raised from a young age with pure blood fanaticism. I should have known better, I know better now, but it’s too late.”

He turns his gaze onto Ron but flickering his eyes between him and Ginny, “Would you believe me if I told you I was jealous?”

Draco doesn’t miss the scoff that falls from Harry’s lips; he ignores it. “I was jealous. I had known only my family until Hogwarts, and it wasn’t the healthiest environment to be raised in. And I arrive at Hogwarts and I see how your family works – how it’s so full of warmth and how it takes everyone in regardless of who they are. You could say that my upbringing was the complete polar opposite to yours.”

“Two impossibilities in one day, all from Draco Malfoy. I think I need to pinch myself.” Ron says, an attempt to defuse the pressure in the room.

“Oh Ron!” Hermione scolds, her eyes lined with unshed tears. She tries to blink them away, but it doesn’t help. “Draco, you have to understand this from our perspectives.”

“Of course. Dr. Jenkins mentioned in one of my sessions that we all experienced the same war but from different perspectives and as a result, are suffering from different side effects almost.”

“It isn’t just that though, Draco.” Hermione starts, “For years, you bullied us. After the battle, we didn’t expect to see you again. When your letters dropped on our doorstep, it brought back a lot of unwanted memories.”

Draco nods, “I completely understand, Hermione. That’s why I understand if you simply came here to hear me out and not forgive a damn thing I say. I wouldn’t be surprised if you came here just to check it wasn’t a prank.”

Ginny smiles sharply, “That was one of the reasons, we were all surprised to read the address for a muggle neighbourhood.”

Draco settles his eyes on each one of them, “I want to be a better person; I am working on becoming a better person and that truly starts here, by apologising to you all for everything I put you through.”

Hermione nods, a small smile grows on her lips, “I want that for you too, Draco. I want to be a better person as well. So on that note, I’m going to start now, I’m going to work on being able to forgive you, but I will accept your apology.”

Something in his chest lightens, he copies her small smile, “Thank you, Hermione.”

“I’ll second that,” Ron says, “It could take some work, but I’m happy to try. I don’t like feeling like this all the time, so I accept your apology too. Besides, it’s nice to know that you’re jealous of me…” He trails off, chuckling slightly.

“Thank you, Ron.”

“Look at that, it’s now three impossibilities now made possible.”

Hermione rolls her eyes at him; Draco can’t help but smile.

Harry has remained quiet through their conversations; his eyes flickering between Draco, Ron and Hermione.

“I can’t forgive you, Malfoy.”

Draco nods, “That’s okay, Harry. I understand.”

“Don’t do that. Don’t be all understanding as if you’re better than me.”

“I’m not doing anything, Potter. I understand why you won’t forgive me; I’m not asking for that. But I want to start my living my life, I want to move on from Hogwarts. And that starts with apologising to you.”

Harry throws his hands up frustrated. Draco is close to doing the same; he feels as if he’s repeating himself but it’s necessary to get the message across. He won’t ever be able to express his gratitude to Ron and Hermione for accepting his apology; it looks as if they’re ready to start living their life as well.

(Y/N) has remained silent through the whole exchange; letting Draco say his piece and communicate his feelings to the others, but she needs to say something now.

“He won’t bring it up because he thinks he’s to blame for it all, but I will. What happened in the bathroom, Harry? In Sixth Year? When you used a curse you didn’t know the consequences of?” (Y/N) snaps at Harry; fed up of the vitriol being spewed at Draco.

Draco has done his fair share of fucked up things; he admitted it to her that night they spoke in this very room. But he’s trying; he’s trying to better himself so they can have a future together and she’ll be damned if she lets anyone stand in the way of that.

The anger drains away from Harry’s face in an instant and all eyes in the room are on him as his grip on Ginny’s thigh becomes tighter.

“You almost killed him that day, you came so close to it.” (Y/N) states, voice breaking, fisting her hands to stop them from shaking.

Harry’s eyes are on Draco, “You told her about that?”

“I told her everything. She knows everything.”

“His blood was everywhere, and you didn’t know what to do. Because you didn’t know what the curse you so boldly used, did.”

“It’s okay,” Draco murmurs, his hand running up and down her thigh in an attempt to calm her.

“No, it isn’t, Draco.” (Y/N) shouts. “I understand that you need to apologise, but you are owed an apology for this.”

Her eyes land on Ron and Hermione, “Did you two know about this?”

Their faces are pale as they shake their heads, “We didn’t know,” Hermione whispers, a hand coming to rest at her mouth.

“Snape made me promise not tell anyone. It was his spell, after all.” Harry says, voice quiet.

“Do you feel even remotely guilty over it? Does it keep you up at night the way it does him?” She accuses, flinging the words at him.

Harry’s eyes narrow at her; Draco’s hand stills on her leg, ready to protect if he needs to. “Of course I feel guilty over it.”

“Then drop the act, Potter. I’m sorry, I know who you are and what you’ve been through and you can’t imagine how sorry I am that you all went through a war as teenagers, but I can’t sit by whilst you attack Draco for his misgivings when you almost killed him!” Her voice increases in volume, she’s shouting at the hero of the wizarding world, but it needed to be said.

“You don’t get to shout at him like that.” Ginny warns.

(Y/N) takes a deep breath, calming herself down, reminding herself that she is in a room with people who were very capable at protecting themselves should they feel threatened. “You almost killed him because of your recklessness.”

“I know.” Harry says; eyes bleak, face pale. He’s thinking back to that moment; to seeing the blood spread across the floor.

“What do you have to say for yourself?”

Draco watches the woman he loves stand up for him; something he couldn’t do for himself. And right then and there, he has an epiphany. He’s found the woman he wants to marry; he’s in love with (Y/N) and if she’ll have him, he’ll spend the rest of his life trying to be worthy enough of her affection. He watches this woman stand up for him and he is in complete awe of her.

Harry’s jaw clenches as he grits his teeth. (Y/N) is right; he used a spell he didn’t know the consequences of, and it almost got Draco killed. (Y/N) is right; he needs to apologise to Draco because it does keep him up at night, along with the horrors of the Dark Lord, he sees Draco’s blood mixing with the water on the floor.

Harry releases a shuddering breath, eyes meeting Draco’s, “I’m sorry,” he whispers, “I’m sorry. I used a spell and the consequences were life changing for the both of us. I’ll never be able to take it back, but I’m sorry.”

Draco nods, the lump in his throat close to cutting off his air. “Thank you, Harry.”

“Draco, I can’t forgive you right now. In the future, maybe. But right now? I can’t. But I’ll accept your apology; it’s the least I can do for you accepting mine.”

“That’s all I ask for.”

Harry leans back in his seat, running a hand over his face. He feels as if this conversation has ages him ten years, but he knows it was necessary. He knew that it would eventually happen, and he would have to apologise for the incident in Sixth Year because it was utter recklessness that almost led to Draco’s death and along with everything else he had been through, it hung over him like a storm cloud. Harry’s hand grips Ginny’s knee tighter, she puts her hand on top of his and squeezes, reminding him that she’s here. She didn’t say a lot, but she didn’t need to. She was here for him, to support him and he thanks his lucky stars that she is.

Ron releases his breath in a huff, “I’m glad that’s over.”

(Y/N) laughs, her ferocity from just a few minutes ago gone, “I agree.”

Ron smiles, “I like her Draco, I think you have a good one here. I think you’re perfectly matched.”

(Y/N) smirks, “Thank you for your assessment, I’m rather inclined to agree with you.”

“And she bakes! Where’s your café? I’m going to start coming to buy your cakes from you.”

She laughs again, utterly enchanted by the Weasley, “Draco will give you the address.”

Hermione smiles, “Well, you’ve got two more customers in us. That cake is incredible; it’ll be a miracle if it makes it home.”

“Thank you; the both of you.”

“It’s no problem at all,” Ron replies.

“Draco,” Hermione starts, “Do you have a card for your therapist?”

Draco looks at her wide-eyed, he pulls his wallet out from his pocket, automatically reaching for Dr. Jenkins card. “She’s a miracle worker; she is already aware of the wizarding world so there isn’t a need to explain anything to her other than what you want.”

Hermione takes Dr. Jenkins’ card from him, dropping it into her purse, “Thank you, Draco. I’ll be sure to give her a call.”

Ron takes Hermione’s hand, tangling their fingers together. It’s such a natural move that neither one seem to realise that they’ve done it. It makes Draco’s heart yearn as he watches the scene play out in front of him.

The silence that falls between the six of them is comfortable. The tension from earlier remains but it’s simmering rather than boiling; there isn’t the fear that someone is going to get burnt.

(Y/N) sees them out; smiles and goodbyes exchanged before they leave. Both Hermione and Ron make a point of offering the start of a distant friendship as they take the address for the café where (Y/N) works, but the relationship with Harry and Ginny would always remain strained. Too much bad had been done by both parties; too much that could not be repaired. Draco thinks back to when he confronted his parents all those months ago; it’s a marathon, not a race and it would take time and effort to get to a healthy enough place with all four of his ex-schoolmates before it could be considered a true friendship.

Draco feels exhausted; physically and mentally. If he could, he would sink back into his chair and never wake again. It has taken everything in him to get through today, and he knows that this evening and tomorrow will be bad emotionally; that he’ll go through the conversations in his head and pick at it, choosing what he could have said better or what he shouldn’t have said. For now though, he thinks that he’s achieved another target for Dr. Jenkins and himself to discuss in their session, and that’s enough for now. He’s made more progress.

(Y/N) perches on the edge of the coffee table upon re-entering the room; her face still flushed slightly from her earlier confrontation with Harry. She puts a hand on either of his knees, leaning forward slightly to keep his attention: “I am so proud of you, Draco. This was a massive step for you, and you did it, you did it so gracefully. This was going to be really hard, and the way you handled it. I have never been prouder.”

“Thank you,” he whispers brokenly, tears beginning to blur his vision. She hands him a tissue, doesn’t say anything as he wipes his eyes.

They smile at each other as the last of the tension leeches from the room. Her hands rub comforting circles on his knees. He feels himself relax at her touch. It’s a recent discovery, how quickly he calms in her presence but it something she uses to advantage when she can tell that he’s overwhelmed.

Their eyes don’t leave each other. They run over their faces, reading the day they’ve had in the worn smiles and tired eyes.

“We need to talk about us, Draco.” She murmurs, her voice hesitant. The last thing she wants to do is to push him farther than he intends to go.

“I know.”

“We can’t avoid our feelings any longer.”

“You’re right. Of course, you’re right.”

“Draco, I’m pretty certain I’m in love with you.”

“(Y/N), I’m pretty certain I’m in love with you too. But here’s the naked truth: I am broken, but I am healing. It’s going to take a while but I’m healing. If you chose to date me, I would count myself as one of the luckiest men in the world. But I understand if you don’t want to take this on; this mess.”

“Draco Malfoy shut up. You are not a mess. I love you and I would be honoured to date you.”

“You would?”

She smiles, “We are a team; in this together.”

“Together? I like the sound of that… I really like the sound of that. Thank you for today,” Draco whispers in a small voice, “You were amazing.”

“Anytime, Draco. You’re stuck with me, remember?”

He laughs; standing up, she stands with him. “I seem to remember you saying something along those lines. I remember saying you wouldn’t find me complaining once.”

Draco wraps his arms around her; holding her to him. She tilts her face up to his; silently granting permission. Draco ducks his head and finally presses his lips to hers.

It’s as if time stops and the only thing happening is the feel of her lips against his. She gasps into his mouth, wrapping her arms around his neck, pulling herself up on her tiptoes. He uses the opportunity to deepen the kiss. Her heart skips a beat, and she’s certain Draco can feel it with how pressed together they are. His scent envelops her; wrapping her in cocoon of night jasmine and the cashmere musk of his sweater – it’s intoxicating, it’s addicting.

They pull away before things can go further; chests heaving. They remain in each other’s arms.

Draco’s fingers doodle invisible patterns from where they rest on her lower back. (Y/N)’s arms remain around his neck; her fingers running through the ends of his hair. She hums into his neck, her breath fanning over him. He shivers imperceptibly at the feeling; she grins at the feeling of him reacting to her. No words need to be spoken; their actions speaking loud enough for the both of them.

He ducks his head for another kiss; this one slower, less intense than their first. This one is unhurried, languid, romantic. The both of them pouring every emotion they have into this kiss. They get to know each other through this kiss. Their first was a clash of lips and tongue; a clash of overwhelming passion. This kiss defines the slow burn of their relationship.

His fingers begin to travel with a mind of their own; memorising every dip and curve in her figure. He pulls away again; not missing the small moan leaving her lips as they part.

He grins at her; his face is flushed, and his lips are swollen as he asks, “Do you want to go to dinner with me?”

Draco’s eyes run over her face; her glassy eyes and her swollen mouth – he did that. His kisses did that. Her answering grin matches his. “Yes, I’ll go to dinner with you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading!
> 
> Feedback is always appreciated, so please leave a comment or a kudos if you enjoyed!
> 
> Tumblr: @iliveiloveiwrite


	7. Chapter Six

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The aftermath of the meeting with Harry, Ron and Hermione.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Six!! This was originally posted on my Tumblr @iliveiloveiwrite
> 
> WARNINGS: mentions of therapy, insomnia, food, alcohol, confrontations, swearing, kissing.
> 
> Feedback is always appreciated!! Please leave a comment or a kudos!!

Narcissa Malfoy does not miss the fact that Draco begins to apparate to London more often. She knows that Dr. Jenkins office is there, but she also knows that he only sees her once a week on Thursday.

She can’t think of another reason for him to visit London so often. Narcissa thinks back to her recent conversations with her son; he had seem distracted and she was slightly worried he was relapsing. But her worries didn’t match Draco’s actions – his flushed face, his bright eyes and the smile that she rarely saw him without. Her son had a beautiful smile; it pleased her to see it again after such a long absence.

Narcissa realises with a jolt that her son is seeing someone.

She interrupts Lucius in the library; reading one of his books on ancient magical tribes of South America.

“Darling, I think Draco has a beau.”

“Narcissa, I love you more than my own life but please don’t say ‘beau’ again.”

She sighs heavily, “Alright, Lucius. Our son is seeing someone.”

Lucius closes the book in his lap, raising an eyebrow at his wife, “How do you know?”

“He’s spending more and more time in London; I barely saw him last week. Plus he has a light in his eyes that I haven’t seen before, and he’s smiling a lot more now. Don’t you think?”

“Now that you mention it, he has been distracted when we have our afternoons together. As if his mind is somewhere else… or thinking of someone else.”

“He isn’t going to bring this up to us on his own.”

“No,” Lucius murmurs, “He won’t. But he did ask for a family dinner on Thursday after his therapy session; he mentioned something he had to say to us.”

Narcissa’s eyes widen, “I think you’re right, darling. I think we may get some answers then.”

“He’s doing well, isn’t he?” He says, holding out a hand to his wife, a silent invitation for her to join him where he sits.

Narcissa nods; sitting on her husband’s lap, a hand running through his shoulder-length hair, “He is. He’s healing.”

\------------------------

Draco is on her doorstep ten minutes early. And he’s shitting it.

He brushes down his black, tailored suit jacket; flattening out invisible creases before fiddling with the cuffs of his sleeves.

The butterflies in his stomach threaten to make an appearance as he knocks on (Y/N)’s door.

It takes less than a minute for her to answer; breathless and smiling.

“Draco,” She breathes.

“(Y/N).” He greets; his eyes raking shamelessly over her body.

“Come on in.” She says, moving to the side, “I just need to find my shoes and we can go.”

“Of course,” He replies, watching her walk away. The burgundy dress she has chosen to wear accentuates her figure; sitting perfectly on the dips and curves to her body. He swallows when he thinks back to the feeling of his hands on those very same curves.

She returns in no time; a thin jacket now wrapped around her shoulders and a small purse in her hands. She looks exquisite; he tells her so, delighting in the flush that heats her face.

“Alright, you shameless flatterer. Let’s go to dinner.”

He holds an arm for her, “Let’s go to dinner, sweetheart.”

Draco’s reserved a table at a small Italian restaurant. It sits on the corner of two streets a few tube stops away from her flat. Hermione recommended it to him when he sent her an owl in a panic; apologising for the letter but he needs help. Hermione responded quickly saying that it was fine for her to send an owl to her and that she had made reservations at this restaurant under his name for eight pm the following night.

It’s a stunning restaurant; giving off an atmosphere that instantly makes you feel at home. The maître d takes them to their table; a booth offering enough privacy from wandering eyes. Draco makes a note to send a bouquet of flowers to both Hermione and Ron; one for her recommendation, another to compliment his girlfriend.

(Y/N) slides into the booth gracefully; he slides in opposite her. They’re silent as they look over their menus before giving their orders to the waiter.

“Draco… this place is gorgeous.”

“It is, isn’t it?” He flirts; not looking at his surroundings.

“You are a shameless flirt, Draco Malfoy.”

“Only for you.”

“Hush now.” She admonishes, but her heart isn’t in it. She loves the attention. “What made you decide on Italian?”

“Can I tell you a secret?”

She nods, her eyes wide with curiosity.

“I panicked and sent a message to Hermione asking me for help with how to romance you. She sent me back a message with the details of this reservation.”

She bursts into laughter, “Draco! You could have taken me to a hovel, and I would still enjoy myself.”

He shrugs, “I wanted it to be perfect.”

Her eyes shine as she grabs his hand from across the table, “It already is. I’m with you.”

“Now who’s the shameless flirt?” He teases.

She gasps dramatically, “I’ve been found out. You’ve foiled my terrible plan!”

Draco laughs, “I knew it!”

She chuckles with him and it’s a beautiful sound. “It is gorgeous here though.”

“It is. Hermione picked well.”

“Add my name to the thank you card, please.”

“Already done.”

Their food arrives not long after. The conversation keeps up while they eat; never tiring. She asks Draco how his therapy is going, and he tells her that he wants to get Dr. Jenkins something to say thank you after the meeting with Harry, Ron and Hermione went so successfully.

“Why don’t you get her a plant?”

“She already has loads.”

“Yeah but get her a magical plant. She’ll love it.”

“Do you think?”

(Y/N) nods, “I think she will. What’s a magical plant that won’t harm?”

“I should know as I got the highest grade possible in my Herbology exam, but I can’t remember.”

“Well that’s understandable,” She chuckles, “I barely remember anything from my exams.”

“Someone I went to school with is now a Professor of Herbology at Hogwarts. I’ll have to send him a letter.”

“That sounds like a good start.”

He nods, hoping Neville Longbottom is a fast writer, and that he’ll forgive him as well.

They continue to talk; he asks her how the café is doing and if she’s enjoying her shifts. She does; she loves her shifts; she has her regulars that come in and they catch up. (Y/N) has worked at the café since she was sixteen years old and fresh out of secondary school. She hasn’t been able to imagine her life without the café for years… until now. Until she met a blonde-haired, broken man and her heart skipped a beat.

They’ve both gravitated to the centre of the booth throughout the meal. His arm now rests around her shoulder, and they’re talking quietly enough where they won’t be overheard by other patrons. Their desert has been eaten and their wine drank; they’re simply savouring each other’s company at this point.

“Are you ready to go?” He whispers, close enough to her ear that he doesn’t feel the need to raise his voice higher.

She nods, “Take me home, Draco.”

He pays the bill; tipping the waiter as a thank you for their service this evening. The waiter stammers a ‘thank you’ as he notices the thirty-pound tip. Draco hasn’t quite worked out wizard to muggle money conversions yet, but he doesn’t mind, it was good service.

They take the tube back to her flat and walk the distance to her home hand in hand. It’s a perfect night; the air is warm and full of promise.

It’s over too soon. They’re at her flat before they know it and Draco thinks that he doesn’t want this night to end; that he doesn’t want to say goodbye to her ever again if he can help it.

“Tonight was… tonight was spectacular. Thank you, Draco.”

“The pleasure is all mine. I had just as good a night.”

She bites her lip; the keys to her door in her hand. She looks at the blonde-haired man, and she doesn’t want this night to end. She doesn’t want to have to say goodnight to him ever again if she can help it.

But he isn’t ready, and he knows that.

So she says this, “Care to kiss me goodnight?”

“Thank Merlin. I’ve wanted to kiss you since you opened the door.”

He draws her into his arms; hers automatically making their home around his neck. The butterflies that had racked his stomach all night only intensify as their lips finally meet. Her heart begins to pound in her chest as she gasps into his mouth. One single touch of his lips, and she wants more. She craves more.

He deepens the kiss; shifting slightly so he can press her to her own front door. One hand lands on the door; the other on her waist, pulling her hips to his. She runs a hand through his hair; smiling against his mouth at the low groan in the back of his throat at the feel of her hands.

It takes everything within him to pull away. But pull away he does.

They’re breathless; chests heaving as they catch the oxygen they need.

“I think I should go in before it goes any further.”

He pulls her back in for a soft kiss, “You’re incredible, do you know that?”

She hums against his mouth, “I’ve been told before, but I’ll happily hear it again.”

Draco throws his head back and laughs, “You’re incredible. You’re beautiful. You’re kind and you’re patient.”

She runs a hand down his cheek, “I’ll always be here, Draco. No matter how long it takes.”

He pecks her lips once more, “Thank you. Now I’ve kept you out long enough, I’ll see you at the café like always.”

She giggles, shaking her head as she unlocks the door, “I’ll see you at the café. Goodnight, Draco.”

“Goodnight, (Y/N). Dream of me.”

“I always do,” She whispers with a kiss on his cheek before she’s entered her flat.

He’s left stood on her doorstep, stunned. He holds a hand to his cheek and thinks: _yeah, I could do this for the rest of my life._

\----------------------------------------------------------------

Draco decides to add to Dr. Jenkins plant collection. He swears Vivian tears up when she catches sight of the potted plant in his hands. It’s a thank you; he knows that this won’t be his last session, and whilst he will never truly be able to explain his gratitude towards the doctor, he thought a low maintenance magical plant would do.

He writes a letter to Neville Longbottom; asking for his advice but also apologising for his actions as a teenager. Neville replies with page after page of advice, and a postscript at the bottom explain how he was already forgiven, Neville understood what it meant to have the pressure of family reputation to uphold. Draco then realises that Neville Longbottom perfectly exemplifies the meaning of a true Gryffindor.

Draco decides to gift Dr. Jenkins an Asphodel plant. In his letter, Neville had mentioned that the Asphodel plant came from the Lily family and had both magical and mundane uses. Draco remembers seeing powdered root of Asphodel in the Potions lesson where they covered the Draft of Living Death. It’s magical enough to impress, but mundane enough to not harm the doctor.

Draco knocks on Dr. Jenkins door before entering, opening the door with a firm grip on the plant.

Dr. Jenkins eyes fall straight to the flower in his hand, “Good Afternoon, Draco.”

“Good Afternoon, Dr. Jenkins. How have you been?”

“I’ve been very well,” She replies, picking up her pad and pen from her desk. “What do you have there?”

“I know this won’t be my last session with you, but I’ve made such progress these last two months that I wanted to express my gratitude.”

“Draco, you didn’t have to do that.”

He shrugs, “I know I didn’t. However, I couldn’t help but notice your plant collection. I spoke to the Professor of Herbology at Hogwarts; he was in my year, you see, and I asked for his advice on non-threatening magical plants.”

Dr. Jenkins eyes widen, “That’s a magical plant?”

Draco nods, “It is, but it won’t harm you or any of your other patients. It’s an Asphodel plant. In Greek mythology, it is said that there is a meadow of these in the Elysium Fields and are considered sacred to Persephone, the Goddess of Spring. At Hogwarts, we grow them in Herbology, and we powder the root to make potions such as the Draught of Living Death and the healing Wiggenweld Potion.”

“Draco, that is wonderful. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome, Dr. Jenkins. Once I saw it was used in a healing potion I knew that it would make the perfect addition to your collection since you promote so much healing.”

Dr. Jenkins takes the potted plant from him with a smile, placing it among her almost greenhouse size collection of plants.

She brushes her tailored trousers as she stands; ridding them of any speck of dirt. She smiles at Draco; not missing the fact that he’s taken his suit jacket off and has rolled up his shirt sleeves. She notes that he’s starting to feel comfortable in his own skin. But she also doesn’t miss the colour in his cheeks, and the light in his eyes. Something big has happened this week, and he’s waiting to tell her. She doesn’t let him wait any longer:

“How did the meeting go with Harry, Ron and Hermione?”

“Well… I’ve decided that I want to marry (Y/N).”

Dr. Jenkins eyes widen; not for the first time, Draco has her in shock, “What makes you say that?”

“She stood up for me. I’ve never seen anything like it. It was incredible; she made Harry address what happened in the duel in sixth year where I was almost killed and she got him to apologise.”

“And that made you decide you want to marry her? That’s a big decision, Draco.”

“No, I know that but being with her just feels right. We’ve started dating; we had our first date a couple of days ago and it was amazing.” He gushes, “She looked beautiful, and we went to a small restaurant and just talked to each other. That’s all. I’ve slowly been falling in love with her for a while, but I feel like I’m starting to be in a place in my life where I can love someone healthily.”

“And how does (Y/N) feel?”

Draco can’t help the blush that comes from hearing her name, “She feels the same,” he says, somewhat bashfully, “We spoke about it after I spoke to Harry, Ron and Hermione. I explained that it would take time, but she’s happy to take this at my pace, she isn’t bothered about the speed of which we move as long as we’re together.”

“She sounds like a very wise woman.”

“She is. She’s helped massively. She asks me about my sessions and makes sure that I’m achieving my targets and that I’m not being overly self-deprecating. She’s a wonder.”

“I’m very happy you’ve found someone who makes you this happy, Draco.”

“Thank you, Dr. Jenkins.”

“So: how did the meeting with Harry, Ron and Hermione go?”

“Better than I expected.”

“How so?”

“I thought it would go terribly; that they’d tell me to shove my apologies up my arse because I’m not deserving of their acceptance or forgiveness.”

“But I take it it didn’t go like that?”

“Not at all. I shouldn’t be surprised; after all, they’ve always been better people than me. They were on the right side of the war after all. But they sat down and they listened to what I had to say. I was especially surprised at Hermione; she suffered so much at the hands of my family, I truthfully believed that she wouldn’t want anything to do with me, but she was the first to accept my apology. She wants to work on becoming a better person herself; she even asked me for your card before they left so you might get a phone call soon.

“I knew that patching things up with Harry would be hard. I knew that both he and I would struggle with being in the same room together. After (Y/N)’s confrontation, he apologised for what he did that day and I don’t think he would have done it had she not pushed. We both accepted the other’s apologies.

“And I think I finally feel something like closure? I’m not sure what it’s supposed to feel like, but what I do know is that whilst it will take some time, I think we could carve a somewhat healthy friendship.”

“That’s a very mature way to think, Draco.”

“I didn’t realise how much I needed to apologise. I didn’t realise just how much it was holding me back from being able to become the man I want to be. I got to explain everything to Ron, and I think he’ll end up being friends with (Y/N) because he loved her cake.”

“So where do you see it going from here?”

“I think a friendship could formed over time and communication. I really do. It’ll take some time for Harry and I to communicate somewhat amicably because there’s so much bad blood between us, but over time, who knows. I feel very positive about going forward with my life.”

“You do?”

“I do. I’ve decided on what I want to do with the rest of my life.”

“That is a very big decision.”

He nods, “It is. But I’m feeling very confident with it.”

“Let’s hear it.”

“I want to become a Healer… a doctor.”

Dr. Jenkins blinks, she didn’t expect that answer, “That is a very noble profession, Draco. I think you’ll suit it very well.” And she does; he shows all the signs of making a wonderful Healer/doctors – he’s compassionate, he’s understanding and he’s patient. He’ll work wonders.

“Thank you. I just… I remember how the Healers responded to Hogwarts when the battle happened. How they didn’t discriminate, they healed, and they comforted. I remember that and I think that I want to do that. I want to comfort someone when they aren’t well, I want to be able to give them the good news that I can help them. And it sounds selfish, but I want someone to hear my surname and not flinch.”

“That isn’t selfish, Draco. You’re giving back to your community. Soon enough, they’ll hear your name and think of your profession and not your reputation.”

“I hope so.”

“What’s your first step to achieve this?”

“I’ve already spoken to the Head Healer at St Mungo’s here in London, and she is happy for me to join their training programme. I achieved Outstanding in Potions, Herbology and Transfiguration and Exceeds Expectations in Charms and Defence Against the Dark Arts. I’d have achieved higher in Defence Against the Dark Arts, but our teachers never lasted longer than a year, so we didn’t have a consistent education.”

“That’s wonderful news; you’ve clearly thought all of this through.”

“It’s been on my mind the last few weeks. I’d love to be a Professor as well, but I don’t think I’m ready for that step yet.”

“And you don’t have to be; this is all about moving at your own pace, Draco. You decide when you’re ready. Until then, we ensure that, when you do achieve this target, you are ready.”

Draco nods, “I’m planning on telling my parents tonight. The news about my career choice and I think they’ll be pleased with the choice.”

“How is everything with your parents?”

Draco smiles, “Really well, actually. My mother are getting along wonderfully, I feel closer to her now than I did as a child. It’s the same with my father. They’ve stopped seeing me as just the heir to the Malfoy name but rather as an individual, independent man.”

“Excellent; that is truly excellent.”

“We all still have bad days, but we don’t take them out on the other. We simply wait until we’re ready to speak and we listen.”

“And the topic of arranged marriages?”

“Completely off the table. My father wrote to my ‘betrotheds’ family and it turned out that they were experiencing the same predicament; their daughter had found someone she wanted to marry. As far as I’m aware they’re settling in to having a new daughter-in-law.”

“Will you introduce (Y/N) to them?”

“I think I will, but only when she is ready. I know they already suspect something; I walked in on them plotting like school children about how to ask me. I enjoyed seeing it, they’re repairing their marriage as well as their relationship with me.”

“This has been an extremely positive session, Draco. You’re continuing to make some wonderful progress.”

“Thank you, Dr. Jenkins. I’m still not sleeping through the night but I’m getting a couple more hours than I was before I started therapy. But I feel better on a whole and I count that as progress.”

“You definitely should. We’ll continue to work on your sleep; it’s part of the PTSD, but we’ll work on it together. Now, would you like to set a new target, or shall we stick with the one we set a few weeks back?”

Draco frowns, “I want to stick with the one we set a few weeks back, if that’s okay?”

“More than okay. The targets are for your benefit, Draco.”

“I just know that it’ll take some time to achieve it.”

“And that’s okay, Draco. You are more than entitled to take your own time with your targets, especially this one.”

“Thank you, Dr. Jenkins.”

“I should be thanking you, Draco; you’ve brought me such a lovely plant.”

Draco chuckles, pulling on his suit jacket as he stands, “It was no problem, at all. I’ll see you next week, Dr. Jenkins?”

“You will. Same time, same place. Have a nice week, Draco.”

“You too, Dr. Jenkins.”

\-------------

He apparates to the café – of course he does, he misses her.

She meets him halfway through the door; pulling him in by the collar for a heart-stopping kiss. She only pulls away when someone from the back shouts at them to get a room.

She cackles as she sits across from him in the table that has now been defined as theirs; cake and coffee already waiting. This table would always be theirs for so much had happened in these two seats; so much had been healed, so much had been defined.

She doesn’t let go of his hand as she greets him, “How did it go today?”

“Very positive. Dr. Jenkins loved the plant as well.”

“I told you she would.”

“You did. I’m starting to believe that you might be right about everything.”

She laughs again; the sound melodic, “I won’t lie, I tend to be right about a lot of things.”

Draco laughs; he really laughs because she makes him want to. She makes him feel as if it’s okay to laugh. She makes him feel a lot of things; all of them positive and happy.

He plays with her fingers, trying to predict what her reaction would be to his news, “What would you say to me moving to London?”

She frowns, “I’d say it would be a less tiring commute for you to see Dr. Jenkins and then me.”

“I’m thinking of moving to London.”

“You’re serious?”

He grins, a smile reaching his eyes, “I am. I’ve been offered a place on the training course at St. Mungo’s to become a Healer.”

(Y/N)’s mouth falls open, “Oh Draco! That’s wonderful news! I’m so proud of you!”

She pulls him in for a kiss; it’s awkward given the fact that they’re both still sitting down but it’s still perfect. All of her kisses are perfect.

“Thank you,” He whispers when they part for breath.

“You deserve this; you’re going to do so well. Have you told your parents? What did they have to say?”

“I haven’t told them yet. I wanted to see if you mind if I was closer to you.”

“Mind? Draco, I’d love to have you closer to me! When are you telling your parents?”

“Tonight, over dinner. Which I need to leave for now so I’m not late. Hell hath no fury than Narcissa Malfoy confronting a later dinner party guest.”

“I’m liking the sound of your mother more and more.”

“I think she’d like you as well.”

Her face flushes, “Is that something you think of? Me meeting your parents?”

“Yes,” He confesses, “But I won’t ask you to meet them until you’re ready.”

He sees her relax slightly at that, “That’s good. Not that I don’t want to meet them! I just want to be ready.”

Draco brings her hand to his lips, “So they can wait; I’m sure it won’t kill them.”

She cradles his cheek, “Go on, off you pop. Go tell your parents your plans, Healer Malfoy.”

A low groan sounds in his throat, “I like the sound of that.”

“I knew you would.”

He stands from his seat, dropping a quick kiss to her lips, “You’re killing me woman. You’re too perfect.”

She laughs, “Go! I don’t want to be the reason you’re late!”

\---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

His mother and father are already seated in the dining room when walks in.

“I’m sorry for being so late; you haven’t started have you?”

Narcissa waves a hand at her son, with a pointed look to her husband, “Nonsense. We’ve only just sat down ourselves.”

Lucius smiles, “You’re looking a little flushed, son, are you feeling okay? You’re not ill are you?”

Draco presses a hand to his cheek, feeling the heat from the residual blush from his kiss from (Y/N). He coughs, “No, father. I feel perfectly fine but thank you for your concern.”

“Are you sure? We can get a Healer here in no time.” Narcissa reassures; not missing the playful smile from her husband.

Draco remains silent as the first course of their meal appears on their plate. “I’m okay, mother. Truly, I am.”

Narcissa looks over her son; reading his body language and facial expressions, “Yes… I think you are.”

The flush on Draco’s cheeks deepens as he takes a bite of the meal in front of him. “How are you two?” He asks, moving the conversation on.

“We’re both fine,” Lucius affirms; not missing the deflection of attention. He knows his wife catches the playful glint in his eyes as he says, “Narcissa, I’m worried. I do think we should call a Healer.”

Draco lets his fork fall to his plate with a clatter, putting his head in his hands with a groan. “I’m fine! It’s nothing to worry about.”

Narcissa takes a sip from the wine glass in front on her, “What’s her name?” She asks, dropping the charade entirely.

Draco’s head shoots up, “How do you know there’s a she?”

Lucius scoffs, “Draco, we were young once too. Your mother and I remember the side effects of early love. What’s her name?”

“I’ll tell you, but you have to promise me something.”

“Anything, Draco.” Narcissa responds immediately.

“Promise to hear me out.”

“We promise.” Lucius declares, his hand finding Narcissa’s on top of the table.

“Her name is (Y/N). I’ve known her for almost four months now, but we didn’t start dating until earlier this week as in we didn’t have our first date until this week.”

“What do we need hear out?”

Draco takes a deep breath, “She’s a muggle.”

His parents look at each other; communicating through silent conversation. Something only a couple who have been together years and years can do.

“Does she make you happy, Draco?” His father asks.

“Very.”

“Do you see a future with her?” His mother questions.

“I do. I see it all with her, and she sees it too.”

“So early?” Lucius asks.

“It’s been a long time coming, father. I met her after my second therapy session, in the café where I got that cake from; we both had feelings for each other, but she knew that I was still healing, still working through a lot of issues. So she waited.”

Narcissa brings her hand to her mouth; tears beginning to line her eyes, “She sounds wonderful, Draco.”

“I think so,” He admits, shyly.

“When can we meet her?” Lucius questions; wanting to get to know the woman who had stolen his son heart, who had helped him heal when him and his mother couldn’t.

“It’s still very early; I want her to be ready before I introduce her.”

Narcissa nods, her eyes now dry, “Of course, Draco.”

The only sound between them for a while is the scraping of cutlery on plates. One hurdle made, Draco thinks to himself, another to go.

Dessert appears on his plate in no time and he knows this is the perfect time. Neither of his parents could be in a bad mood over dessert; they appreciated sweets too much.

He clears his throat, gaining their attention, “I do have something else to announce.”

His parents place their spoons down, focusing their eyes on him.

“I’ve made my decision on my career.”

Narcissa gasps, “Oh! That’s brilliant news! What is it? Professor? Auror?”

Draco shakes his head, “I’ve been accepted into the training programme at St Mungo’s. I start training to be a Healer in a month.”

If it is possible, his mother’s eyes get wider, “Did you hear that Lucius? Our Draco is going to save lives for a living!”

Lucius clears his throat, trying to clear the lump that has grown there, “That is a noble choice, Draco. Well done.”

Tears well in Draco’s eyes, “Thank you, father. I didn’t want to say anything until it was confirmed, and I got the letter for the Head Healer yesterday.”

“We’ll need to find you a place to live! Oh, I have an excuse to visit London more often now. I do so love that city.” Narcissa rambles, plan after plan forming in her head of the interior design of Draco’s flat.

“Oh, Draco.” She says, “It truly is wonderful news. I am so proud of you.”

“You are?”

Narcissa nods, “You’re going to bring great things to the Malfoy name, my son.”

“Thank you, mother.” He whispers, brokenly.

“Draco, I-“ His father starts, breaking off when his voice breaks, “Draco, I think you’re going to be an excellent Healer, I think St. Mungo’s will be very lucky to have you. You’ve finally broken the cycle, my son. I am so proud of you.”

Draco doesn’t stop the tears now; he lets them fall freely. It’s all he’s wanted to hear from his father, and he’s done it. He’s achieved the dream of his eleven-year-old self when he was sorted into Slytherin, of his sixteen-year-old self when he accepted the dark mark, of his eighteen-year-old self when he survived a war.

He’s achieved it at twenty years old. His father is proud of him.

Narcissa doesn’t hide her tears either; black streaks running down her face from where he mascara has ran. 

He scrubs at his face with his napkin, “Thank you, father.”

Narcissa wipes her face in her handkerchief; not worried about ruining the rest of her always impeccable makeup. “We’ve come so far. So far.” She whispers, mainly to herself but Draco doesn’t miss it.

_Yes, we have,_ he thinks to himself; _we really have._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading!
> 
> Feedback is always appreciated!! Please leave a comment or a kudos!!
> 
> Tumblr: @iliveiloveiwrite


	8. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Draco achieves his final target.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The final piece! This was originally posted on my Tumblr: @iliveiloveiwrite
> 
> WARNINGS: mentions of food, suicidal ideations, bad memories.
> 
> Feedback is always appreciated, so please, leave a comment or a kudos if you enjoyed! Tell me your favourite thing about the fic! Or tell me how your day was!

The repairs to Hogwarts School for Witchcraft and Wizardry took only a week. The mass destruction caused at the hands of Lord Voldemort and his followers was not simply suffered by the witches and wizards of the United Kingdom who had studied there but was keenly felt by witches and wizard around the world. The influx of magical beings apparating to the nearby town of Hogsmeade meant that the repairs to the school were completed a lot faster.

By the end of the week, Hogwarts had been returned to its former glory.

But the scars remained; visible only in the faces of students and teachers alike as they walked the corridors and mourned their losses.

The war touched everyone; it left no stone unturned.

\------

Draco Malfoy stops to return home three times. His palms are sweaty and his heart pounds in chest.

He paces the train compartment; unable to sit still very long for the fear of intruding thoughts and memories.

It has taken him months to get to this point. Every time he thought he was close; he would have a setback. Which was okay because in order to do this; in order to achieve his final target set so long ago, he has to be ready.

And he finally is.

The first breath of air after departing the train is sweet; he had forgotten how claustrophobic the train compartments could be. The second breath holds sentimentality and nostalgia rolled into one as he remembers departing the train to start a new academic year.

A hand slides into his; delicate fingers tangling with his and squeezing tight. Anchoring him to this very moment.

“Are you ready?” She asks; attention solely on him and not on their surroundings.

Draco releases a shuddering breath, “As I’ll ever be. The path is this way.”

It had been organised weeks ago; this very moment. Draco sent a letter to Professor McGonagall detailing his journey and final target left to achieve, but also begging a boon to have the muggle avoidance charm removed for (Y/N)’s benefit.

Professor McGonagall responded in kindness. Offering a date where student interaction would be minimal and offering the whole day for both of them to take their time.

She also added that she was pleased to hear he was doing so well and that he had found someone to share the rest of his life with.

The wind blows (Y/N)’s hair into her face which she brushes away with her left hand. The promise ring given to her a month ago sits prettily on her middle finger to avoid the confusion of an engagement. _One day_ , Draco thinks.

He leads her down the familiar trail; one his feet have travelled so many times but did not think they would do so again.

Draco hears her intake of breath when her eyes land on the grand castle in which he received his formative education. The towers loom over the Scottish Highlands making the caste’s presence here dominant and foreign yet the school would belong nowhere else.

As they draw closer and closer to the castle, Draco realises that the feeling from First Year; of seeing the school for the very first time in all of its glory, never goes away.

He took it for granted, he realises. His love for the place and its love for him. He took it all for granted.

The ornate wooden doors that signify the entrance to the school are soon in his line of vision.

With a gasp, he stops.

Everything is pristine and perfect; not a brick out of place, yet he’s seeing it exactly as it was all those years ago. The dead had been moved to the Great Hall where their souls could pass to the afterlife without fear of being trod on. The dead had been removed but rubble covers the courtyard and have destroyed the doors. Doors that have stood for over a thousand years but now hang on their hinges as if nothing more than an insignificant piece of the castle.

The voice that frees him from his nightmares is close by, calling his name. “Draco, darling – come back to me.”

He blinks. He’s standing in the courtyard but it’s clear. He’s standing in the courtyard and (Y/N) is there. She’s there.

Concern floods her eyes, “We can turn around, Draco. I’m sure Professor McGonagall will understand if we do this another day.”

He shakes his head, “No, it’s okay. We’ve come this far. It just took me by surprise is all.”

She frowns, the worry in her eyes not lifting, “You say the word and we go, okay? You make the decisions today.”

“Only today?” He questions in an attempt to lighten to the sombre mood that had fallen upon the both of them.

She smiles, “Can’t give you too much power. I wouldn’t want it to go straight to that pretty head of yours.”

“So you think I’m pretty?”

She raises a perfectly shaped eyebrow, “I have done for almost a year now, but thanks for just noticing.”

They pause in their steps; they’re outside the imposing doors now. He takes a deep breath before pushing lightly on the doors, watching as they give way under his touch. (Y/N) looks at him in wonder.

“Wordless magic.” He explains, “I didn’t have to say the words to get the spell to work.”

He grins when he hears her mutter ‘show off’ under her breath.

Draco stops in the entrance hall. Each of them taking a moment – (Y/N) to digest what she’s witnessing; Draco to battle the waves of nostalgia that threaten to overtake him.

He catches eyes with a tabby cat perched on the third step from the bottom.

“Good morning, Professor McGonagall,” Draco greets

“Draco, darling. That’s a cat.”

He shakes his head, “This cat taught me Transfiguration for seven years. How are you, Professor?”

The gasp (Y/N) releases as she watches the cat transform into a grey-haired witch in emerald green robes had Draco grinning like a fool in love. Well, he supposes he is.

“Mr. Malfoy, I trust your journey went well. I presume this is the Miss (Y/N) (Y/L/N) you mentioned in your letter.”

Draco’s arm wraps around her waist, “It is. (Y/N), this is Headmistress McGonagall of Hogwarts.”

(Y/N) smiles, holding out her hand in greeting. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Headmistress. Draco has told me a lot about his time at Hogwarts.”

Headmistress McGonagall shakes (Y/N)’s hand twice before letting it drop, “It’s a pleasure to meet you too.” She directs her gaze to Draco, “You have all day here, Mr. Malfoy and don’t worry over any students. It is exam season and I’m sure you remember how that was. All I ask is that you stay away from the Whomping Willow – it has been oddly temperamental as of late. And please stay out of the Forbidden Forest.”

Draco nods, “Of course, Headmistress. Thank you for allowing us to visit and for giving me the counter charm for the muggle avoidance charm so (Y/N) could accompany me.”

“You’re welcome, Mr. Malfoy. Now off you; there’s a lot of ground to cover as you well remember.”

Draco nods, smiling at McGonagall before pulling (Y/N) in the direction of the Great Hall.

McGonagall’s voice sounding one more time has Draco turning around, “It’s nice to see you doing so well, Draco.”

They take their time wandering through the school. Draco first shows her the Great Hall; he enjoys the sight of her wandering between the table, a finger dragging along the wood.

“So you would eat here?”

Draco nods, following her down the aisles between the tables, hands in his pockets, “Yes, meal times but we’d also have revision periods in here.”

She turns to him, smiling softly, “Which is the Slytherin table?”

He points to the furthest table across the room, “That one, there.”

(Y/N) rushes over to the table, perching on the bench, “I can see you now, little Draco eating breakfast before running to first lesson.”

He sits across from her, “I never ran. I’m way too cool to run.”

She snorts, laughing. “Come on, show me the rest of the school.”

Draco lets (Y/N) pull him from the Great Hall, but she pauses at the door uncertain of which way to turn.

“Which way do I go?”

He grins at her as he takes the lead, “I’ll show you the staircases and then you might understand why I didn’t run to lessons.”

“You’ve intrigued me.”

She shrieks as from her first step on the staircase, they begin to move. Both of her hands shoot out to grab Draco. He can’t help but chuckle at her reaction; reassuring her that it’s okay to move further up their stairs as they connect to a corridor.

His mood changes however as the stairs connect to the corridor that leads to the Astronomy Tower.

She notices the change; trying to hold him even tighter as if she can protect him from the onslaught of emotions and memories crashing over him in a tidal wave.

Draco is silent as they walk up the stairs to the tower. (Y/N) grateful that these one remain steady under her feet.

He knew it would be empty. Astronomy being an elective subject with the classes taking place at night to better study the stars.

“Where are we, Draco?” (Y/N) asks at the top of the stairs; watching him walk to the edge of the tower and lean against the railings.

“This is the Astronomy Tower.”

A pit forms in her stomach; he had told her about that night – what he felt, what he wanted.

“Draco,” She whispers, joining him at the railings, looking at the view.

“I’m okay,” He whispers, just as quietly – his voice carrying despite the sound of the wind from being this high up.

She places a hand on his cheek, turning his face so his eyes are on her.

“You have come so far, Draco Malfoy. You are not the boy you were when you studied here. You are an incredible man and you are going to be the best Healer St Mungo’s will have ever had the pleasure of working with. You are loved; by me, by your parents. You have reason now. You are not who you used to be; do you understand me?”

He nods, eyes lines with the silver of unshed tears. He puts his hand on top of hers, keeping it pressed to his cheek, “I do. I understand.”

“Good,” She says with a fierce conviction.

The fire quickly leaves her eyes; overwhelming adoration replacing, “I love you, Draco. Now let’s replace your memories of this place with a good one.”

“What did you have in mind?”

She grins wickedly, pulling on the collar of his suit jacket.

\---------

They finish their tour of the school by the Black Lake. The sun is warm, but the wind is frosty as it blows around the young couple. She pulls him down to sit beside her on the lakeside. For a while, they take in the view. The lake stretches on for what seems like miles, and the towering moors provide the perfect backdrop for what could be a Victorian gothic novel.

It is beautiful. It is wild.

“It’s so lovely here.” She murmurs, her hand running through the grass to find his.

He hums, “You should see it in winter when it snows. It’s another place entirely.”

“I bet it is.”

“Thank you for coming with me today.”

“There was no doubt about it, Draco.”

“Still. It means a lot to have you here as I work through this.”

“I wouldn’t want to be anywhere else.” She looks at him, trying to gauge his emotions, “How do you feel?”

He sighs, “I don’t know. I’m feeling a lot of things right now. Sadness, nostalgia, sentimentality, happiness. So much is going on in my mind.”

“Do you regret coming?”

He’s quiet as he thinks over his next words, “No. I don’t think I do.” He says finally, quietly but firmly.

He sweeps his gaze over the majestic school standing proudly against the backdrop of the wild Scottish highlands and moors. Something in his chest begins to unwind; finally releasing its tight grasp on his heart and lungs. Something within him feels light again and he takes his first free breath.

\---------------

In the last year, Dr. Jenkins office has begun to feel something akin to a second home. Every Thursday he takes a seat on the maroon Chesterfield couch and proceeds to tell the doctor how his week has been.

This week he knows that he has made progress; that he has achieved his final target.

He isn’t cured. There isn’t a miracle fix for his PTSD other than time, patience and therapy but he has earned the right to feel some pride at achieving this target.

“Did you go?” Dr. Jenkins asks.

Draco nods, “I did. I went back.”

“How did you feel?”

“Scared. Nervous.”

Dr. Jenkins closes her writing pad, and puts the lid on her pen. “That’s understandable, Draco. But how did you feel by the end of it?”

His blues eyes shine with unshed tears as he states loudly and proudly, “I had forgiven myself.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THANK YOU TO EVERYONE WHO HAS READ, COMMENTED AND LEFT A KUDOS!!! <3 Feedback is so essential as a writer; it keeps us motivated to continue works when we don't want to. 
> 
> I hope you all enjoyed reading this as much as I enjoyed writing it!!

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading!
> 
> I'll be posting the whole series over the next few days!
> 
> Feedback is always appreciated! If you enjoyed, please leave a comment or a kudos!
> 
> Tumblr: @iliveiloveiwrite


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